The Light of Arwen's Love
by ArwenFairTinuviel
Summary: Arwen and Aragorn are living happily in Minas Tirith after the War of the Ring when Arwen finds out she is pregnant with their first child. Yet soon a shadow descends over Gondor, and when Aragorn's reign is threatened Arwen becomes caught up in a danger far greater than she, or anyone else, could possibly imagine.
1. Arwen's Secret

**A/N: **_Welcome to 'The Light of Arwen's Love'. This is the first fanfiction I began writing, years ago now when I was thirteen. As you can tell from the dates, I finished it several years later when I was eighteen. Subsequently the quality of my writing is significantly better after the first ten or so chapters. Though I have since edited them to improve them somewhat, I urge you to PLEASE bear with me in the first few chapters because I promise that the story gets many times better from about chapter eleven onwards! I hope you like the story and please do leave a review at whatever point you finish reading, it means so much to me to hear your comments and your feedback is invaluable to help me improve in the future, however many years on. Thank you and – enjoy _:-)

**The Light of Arwen's Love**

Chapter 1 – Arwen's Secret

Arwen sighed deeply and her eyes watered slightly. She lightly touched Aragorn on his emerald-cloaked shoulder, but he instantly felt the faintest touch. He turned round to smile at her, a little worry in his expression. Whilst he finished talking to Faramir, she gazed up at the tall windows set along the stone walls of the great hall. The darkness out there was in powerful contrast to the flames of the flickering torches that were scattered throughout the hall.

There were still a fair number of people there at the feast, but it had long ago officially finished, and now most of them were eagerly huddled round one of the long tables where there was a contest of seeing who could drink the most and stay up the longest. Arwen sighed again and smiled – such simple amusement! There was a huge roar as one of the contestants toppled off the table, landing with a thud amongst many empty flagons.

As the raucous laughter erupted, Aragorn stepped away from their friends.

"Tired already?" he laughed, then took her hand. "Come on, let's go up. They will be fine," he added, as Éowyn and the Steward moved over to the ale-consumed men.

He chuckled to himself again, and then led Arwen slowly up the hall, round his high throne, to a beautifully carved archway. They stepped under this, and then climbed up a few steps, the roars soon fading away. The couple came to a strong oak door, which Arwen gently pushed and they came in together.

Their circular room in the white tower was softly lit by three small flame torches, and this night there was no need for a fire in the grate. The bed covers were smoothed out and there was fresh water in a pale blue jug on a low wooden table. The light airy curtains over the windows flew in the air movement of the door, and then were still.

Arwen quickly twisted a small silver key in the lock, and then turned back. She found that Aragorn was watching her every move with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Arwen smiled and looked down at the soft sheepskin rug tickling her bare feet, and, slowly coming closer to the bed, started to take her light sky-blue and well-cut dress off, which Aragorn himself had always thought was rather attractive. Now he watched her with complete fascination and only absent minded began to unfasten his elven cloak and pull off his trousers.

Arwen went over to her pillow and lifted it up. Underneath it there was something white, and when she took it out it unravelled itself to reveal it being a long flowing nightdress. She then approached Aragorn, who had hurriedly taken his top off and pulled his deep red nightshirt on. He took the nightdress from Arwen, and as she lifted her arms up he gently put it over her and tugged it down. When it had fallen and hung on her perfectly, like a princess of dreams, she brought her deep eyes up.

Aragorn nearly melted on the spot. He looked like he had seen the fairest thing in existence (which could be argued as true). Luring her closer, she slid her arms over his broad back, and suddenly Aragorn pressed a very intimate kiss to her soft lips. They cuddled together, feeling each other's warm breath on their cheeks, letting their eyes close and see places only they knew, far from anyone else, away from the distant talk in the hall, away from Minas Tirith; up in gardens of the moon lit by stars, and they walked together under calming sounds of the trees, and water lapped at their ankles, and jewels shone in their hair.

But suddenly Arwen drew away, and moved her hands down onto his heaving chest.

Aragorn was worried, it was clear in his gaze, and he soothingly fondled her silky hair. Yet Arwen still seemed unsure, and she did not look into his eyes, rather she kept hers fixed firmly downwards. Aragorn breathed out noisily, trying to think of the best thing to do. He didn't want her to be like this; he had always known her as a brave but sweet elf-maiden, full of hope. It was very peculiar for him to see her chewing her lip and not smiling when they were in such close proximity, disturbingly frightening. As he watched her, he saw that she seemed to be deciding whether to say something to him or not.

Then she moved her lips closer, though this time past his own. His hair brushed his face, tickling him and giving him a brief smile.

"Aragorn," she whispered in his ear, so quietly that not even had another elf been in the room could he have heard. "…I have something to tell you."

He was slightly puzzled, but Arwen bit her lip again, and before he could question her she suddenly ran to a little door next to them in the north-east part of the wall, and leapt up the spiralling stairs, running round and round and round, until finally she came out onto the top of the tallest tower in their realm. The white stone under her feet was freezing, and a slight northerly breeze was blowing, yet she wasn't cold, but still rather warm.

She walked a couple paces over to the eastern wall and held each of her arms. Standing so still she felt her heart pumping strongly and it began to unnerve her. She was already worried, scared of what Aragorn would think, afraid that he would not be happy. Her eyes started to water and her heart was beating faster and faster. She was breathing heavily and, although she tried to soothe herself, she couldn't stop trembling. Thoughts flew through her head, but none of them helped her and she looked helplessly around. Then she looked up. Her quick sight turned to a gaze, and her body softened out.

There was the moon in its full beauty, the beacon of the night, so bright and perfect. The silvery white was the purest colour Arwen had ever seen. It was set up there in the deep night sky, a heavenly jewel shining with reverence and love. She had often fixed herself to it in the troubled days not far gone, and it had given her subtle strength, and she had learned to love its glistening, swirling mists.

And even now the Lady Evenstar felt peace wash through her body, and her mind was cleansed by her ray of hope. The wind blew in her hair, and immediately the veil that had shrouded the sleeping city fell away, and she could see many things below which gave her memories of joy and happiness.

A hand gently came to rest on her left shoulder, and she turned round to see Aragorn's concerned face.

"Estel," she called him softly, and she smiled whilst giving him her hand. His face relaxed a little, and he took her away from the edge of the tower and into the middle. They brought their hands up and held them between their two chests, as if linking their hearts together at that exact moment.

They were very close now, and if any had seen the couple from below, they would have thought them as one. Arwen moved one hand up and held it lightly against Aragorn's head, seeing the ripples of his dark hair flowing on her hand and feeling the short bristles under her palm.

Then she sensed that he was moving one hand slowly down her body, starting from her chest, and exaggerating her seductive figure with his healing hands. Aragorn knew this enticed her and she just could not resist, and whilst she felt sexier, he appeared in her eyes more attractive too.

Nevertheless, then, as he moved his hand over her stomach, she felt a very curious tingling sensation and she shuddered, taking her hand from his face. But Aragorn mistakenly took it to be a shiver, and that his heart's most dear treasure was cold. So he wrapped his strong Ranger arms around his maiden and brought her closer.

Arwen gazed up into his eyes, and to her great surprise found that, although his face had softened, there was a deep fear for her there, and she felt moved.

Just as she was about to look away, he gave a small sigh, which he did often, and quietly said simply, "Arwen." He touched her face and felt the long sleek hair he knew so well.

Arwen breathed shakily, getting ready to tell him. She blinked, and still saw those curious, yet understanding eyes pouring into her soul.

She took a breath, and said, in that voice which Aragorn loved, "I'm pregnant."


	2. Affection at Night

Chapter 2 – Affection at Night

Aragorn smiled to himself and stretched out languidly under the white bed sheets. The explosion of happiness within his chest was almost unbearable and could not be quelled. He was to become a father! And what was more, with the elven-maiden he had loved but barely even dared to hope to marry since he was only twenty years of age. Life had become so wondrous. Aragorn could never be thankful enough for these gifts the Valar had granted him so generously, no matter how many times Arwen insisted that it was no more than he deserved after the times of hardship, through which he had excelled like a king of old.

Aragorn's eyes became accustomed to the grey gloom and he turned his head to discern the outline of Arwen next to him. She was nestled in a fetal position, facing away from him, but the moonlight was shining down through one of the windows and it made the angle of her cheek glow a pearly white. She appeared so gentle and calm, unassumingly radiant, and his heart poured out with joy to see her sleeping so peacefully by him at last. He would never get used to this nightly dream-like experience, where all he had dreamed for as he wandered alone for so many years was materialised before his eyes, and there was no sound apart from Arwen's soft breathing, gentler than the light summer wind.

Strands of her dark hair had slipped over her face and were now leaping in the waves of her breaths. Aragorn held his own breath and with great care deftly picked her silky lock up off her eyelid, hoping not to tickle her. Arwen stirred for a moment and then settled again.

Aragorn watched her with concern and adoration before allowing his eyes to close. He snuggled up to her warmth and carefully slid his arms through hers, bringing himself around her in a tender embrace. He could feel her soft skin against his arms, and, with irresistible desire shooting through his whole body, he began to slide his hands upwards to lay one over her beating heart.

He bent down and laid one daring kiss on the skin of her neck, still afraid that this beautiful jewel he held in his strong arms may break at any moment. Arwen barely gave a murmur as she openly relaxed into the cocoon of his muscular body, revealing in her sleep how dearly she regarded Aragorn, no heed to his mortality. A flare of pride was struck in his chest and he nestled against her even more, his fingers tracing elven patterns upon her chest as he coaxed from her the whimpers that made his heart swell with pleasure.

Aragorn cherished every movement Arwen made towards him. No plethora of moments like this could ever make the embrace mundane - quite the opposite, he only wished for more. Now that he knew she was expecting a baby it felt as if his love had expanded even further, though he knew not how it was possible. He did not know for sure the cause, but there was something that made him feel even closer to Arwen, something that gave him bursts of elation and exuberance every time his eyes flew open to steal a look at her beauty, something that gave him renewed realisation that he would do all he could to care for her and, if necessary, protect her. He did not doubt for one single moment Arwen's words – now he looked at her in new understanding, and now he touched her he could sense a secretive change in her being within.

Keeping one hand on her heart, he ran the other down over her tummy and the warming glow he found there made Aragorn feel as if he had spun head over heels down the mountainside. Arwen gave audible sighs of yearning; Aragorn only silenced her by drawing near and pressing a sensual kiss to her lips.


	3. A Plea for Secrecy

Chapter 3 – Please Don't Tell

The next morning Arwen gradually woke to find herself snuggled against Aragorn's warm body. She could feel his chest rhythmically rising and falling and his breaths streaming into her silky hair and making it flutter in the air. She carefully rolled over on the soft mattress without disturbing his slumber and set her eyes upon him.

Every morning she fell in love with that face and her adoration of him grew even more. She could see the care and responsibility he bore drawn in the lines of his brow and the humility in his closed eyelids. She saw his dark hair sweep round his face and the waves fade away just before his collarbone. There was a rough shadow upon his jaw, his strong cheekbone, and his browned nose from years of sunshine. Finally, his lips.

With eyes sparkling, Arwen thoughtfully nibbled her own lips, letting her imagination reveal to her how it would be to kiss those soft, pale lips and feel them press against hers before they gave way to the warmth within. The yearning provoked her to edge nearer, without even realising. She gazed keenly at his still face, caressing every feature with her eyes and thoughts without waking him from his peaceful dreams.

But now the pull was so strong she could herself being drawn closer, her heart calling out to his, her lips aching, her eyes melting with love.

She lightly laid her fingers down upon his hand that was resting between them on the pillow, but instead of satisfying, the contact taunted her with a taster of what more Aragorn's body could offer her. It made her shiver with overwhelming anticipation and sudden irresistible decision. Her body quivered under the sheets while she lowered herself towards him. The excitement and naughtiness was mixed with knowledge that this was a bold streak out of line of her usual meek elven composure. But who was there to see, she reminded herself, and she consoled herself with the thought that being awoken by an elf kissing you could in no way be a "punishment". A devious smile suddenly broke over her calm elven complexion: Arwen knew he would do anything to put his tongue in her mouth.

Oh she was so happy now – and she knew Aragorn was delighted that they were to have a baby – more happy than ever, as if the screaming joy when they had made love to each other three months ago had been stretched out through her body ever since. No wonder then that that particularly memorable occasion had been in Arwen's mind frequently, and from the way Aragorn had looked at her on occasions since, he was not much different. That one night they had reached the highest points of their lives – they had been together, more than just their bodies, but their hearts, and souls, tied up and wrapped in each other, living completely in their own love – and Arwen had decided (for elves have such a gift of control) that it was time.

And hence they would have something so perfect, so precious, so magical from their love! …She just could not lose.

Arwen pierced Aragorn's lips with her gleaming eyes. No, she certainly couldn't lose. So she kissed him.

Aragorn awoke to think he was back in a dream – a very good one in fact, and the first thing he felt was that he didn't want to leave it. But he soon realised that it was real, and Arwen was actually indeed kissing him with everything she had. He could feel her nose pressed against his cheek and her damp lips touching his drier ones. But he could also feel her inside his mouth, rubbing and pressing his tongue continuously, and he found he had already responded and he could not resist licking her own tongue and caressing them together.

Eventually he felt her pull away, and opened his eyes to see her panting heavily but with a smile on her face and a gleam in her eye.

"Forgive me," she murmured, guiltily hiding her lips with her fingers, "I couldn't help it."

Aragorn looked at her, searching through the shyness at the surface of her eyes; but he knew he desire deep within. "You never can," he then replied slyly, and he drew his hand out from under hers and ran it down her silky nightdress, one finger tracing over the point of her breast. The material was so thin that she could not steady the violent shiver that this touch had teased out of her and she succumbed to him. Her head fell weakly down onto his chest as she felt his arms wrap around her and run up her back. After sometime she discerned that he was actually unfolding the straps of her nightdress from her shoulders. She looked up with warning in her eyes, but that small movement as she shifted was enough for the straps to fall down to her elbows and expose her chest.

"Estel!" she whispered, amazed at his devious fingers. Aragorn smiled with a naughty twinkle in his eye. "Where do you learn such indecency?" He laughed and broke Arwen's pretence of offence.

"Why," he uttered, bringing one hand up her breastbone, keeping her close to him with the other, "it comes naturally."

Arwen betrayed herself with a smile, so dazzling that now Aragorn was weakened and couldn't stop himself from cupping one breast in his hand and pressing hot, damp kisses in the niche below her ear.

"Estel…" Arwen moaned and trembled; yet she let him continue. She had submitted to his mischievousness wholly and knew it was fruitless to struggle.

They rested in this way for a while, before Arwen spoke again.

"But you will not tell anyone yet, will you?" she asked dazedly looking up through glassy eyes.

Aragorn stilled and then drew back to look down at her. "But why, Arwen? Are you not happy?" he asked, concern filling his grey eyes.

"No, of course not," she murmured, and smiled reassuringly.

"Well, but… then – they'll – it's…" he stammered. A crease formed on Arwen's eyebrows. "Arwen," he finally said. "Err… you said it was three months."

"No I didn't," she said, and he frowned, "but… it is." She held his eyes and a smile crept up her face.

"But then, won't people see?" Aragorn persisted.

Arwen sighed and turned her head to look at the bright blue sky out the window and for a moment listened to the happy sound of the singing birds.

"Yes," she whispered quietly, before turning back to him and stroking the roughness around his lips. "But, please, do not tell them, not yet." She looked up into his concerned eyes. She couldn't read them. "_Please_." She insisted.

Then he gave a little smile and laughed to himself. "Of course," he said, knowing he could never fully understand the depth there was to elves. "You have my word, my beautiful Evenstar."

"Hannon le," she said meaningfully, and pulled herself against his body. This time the nightdress slipped down past her waist. Now Aragorn laughed loudly and moved towards her, hidden under the sheets.

"Oh, I love you," Arwen sighed, emotion catching in her voice. Her fingers twisted his hair between her fingers and this made Aragorn smile.

"I love you too…" he replied, and he pulled the covers over their head and descended upon her quivering, naked body with an overpowering smile.


	4. Elven Perception

4. Elven Perception

Together Arwen and Aragorn managed to get through several weeks with their treasured secret still hidden. As time passed Aragorn found himself admiring Arwen's gradually changing body, yet he noticed her becoming more and more self-conscious of the little bump, which saddened him. He could see the disappointment in her eyes when she dressed each morning and looked down, finding that she no longer had her perfect elven figure and that her tummy was starting to show through the beautiful velvets she wore, whether she wanted it to or not.

Arwen was at ease when he was beside her, but when he had to leave to do his duties as the ruler of Gondor an inexplicable dread took hold of her. She grew incredibly anxious, believing that people would start to suspect that she was pregnant and that something bad would come of it. Her deep sense of foreboding was so intense that she pleaded for Aragorn to not yet make an announcement to the people. Not only was she afraid of what might happen when the news was let out, but also she was uncomfortable with the knowledge that from that point onwards everyone would be staring at her, and whispering about her and the evidence she bore of her love life with the King. It was all too daunting. For now she desperately wanted to keep her pregnancy private – something just between her and Aragorn – and she clung to secrecy as if her life depended on it.

But when Arwen escaped the company of others and reflected on the new life of her half-elven child now growing within her, she found a warm happiness spreading through her heart. She was truly overjoyed that she was expecting her firstborn baby. She could not suppress her excitement any longer; her face lit up with happiness and as she danced through the sunlit gardens she sang, losing herself in happy fantasies of the wonderful life that was to come. At that time, life was good, life was glorious, and life was perfectly undisturbed.

It was to be the calm before the storm.

Trouble began for Arwen one summer's day, a month after she had revealed her pregnancy to Aragorn. The morning started as normal, with Arwen saying a regrettably early goodbye to her husband by the Fountain before he commenced a long day of negotiations, organising, and difficult decision-making. Aragorn had kissed her gently and lingeringly, for as long as possible without drawing the guards' attention, before wrapping a shawl over her shoulders and wishing her a good day. Then she mounted her white horse Ninniach and rode down to the second level from the citadel, still savouring the memory of his kiss and the faint touch of his hands skimming over her shoulders. She cantered along the roads, which were quiet as most people were only now rising, and the hoof-steps echoed off the stone houses and shops and rang down the sleepy alleyways, unbuffered.

Near the southern gate Arwen came to an orchard, where she dismounted and allowed her horse to wander off and bask under the shade of the laden apple trees. After slipping off her shoes, she walked barefoot through the grass under the boughs of the trees, heading for a special garden bestowed upon her by the townsfolk of Minas Tirith. For, even though she and Aragorn shared a garden of their own up in the citadel, she had fallen in love with this place the moment she had chanced upon it during her first month as Queen, and the townsfolk had given it to her in a gesture of goodwill as they welcomed her into their city. The garden may not have been very large, or properly kept, but it was reminiscent of the elven gardens of Lorien and Rivendell that Arwen had once walked in long ago, and it filled her heart with peace.

The trees ended and Arwen stepped out into the bright sunshine, and she closed her eyes and lifted up her head, smiling and basking for a moment in its glorious warmth. Sighing with pleasure, she headed across the lawn, scattered pink clover and white daisies passing beneath her feet and tall yellow buttercups brushing against her ankles. The dazzling sunlight fell down onto a pool that reflected the cloudless blue sky and glittered as ripples raced across its surface. Tall reeds encircled the water, whispering familiarly in the gentle breeze, while tall irises, both orange and yellow, waved cheerfully at their intense reflections. As she neared it, she saw dragonflies flitting about over the clear water, flashing their gleaming turquoise and jade wings, while the air vibrated around her with the humming of grasshoppers and crickets. It was wonderful.

But the July sun was proving to be the hottest Gondor had ever known and it was with much gratitude that Arwen entered the shade of a great willow tree that stood at the southern bank of the pool. She lifted aside one of its trailing branches and slipped inside, letting the silvery curtain of leaves fall back behind her. The leaves fluttered in the gentle wind but the overlapping branches concealed her from the rest of the garden and sheltered her from the suffocating heat in a cool cocoon. She shrugged off her shawl and sat down between two twisted roots that stretched out into the long grass, leaning back against the ridged, dusty grey bark with a contented sigh.

At last, she felt at ease. Finally she could absorb herself in the joyous new life that was springing within her, without any fear of being read. She dreamed of a time when Aragorn was no longer chained to his duties as King, and they could spend long hours here in the garden, rejoicing in their hope for the future by once more expressing their love… Slowly laying kisses over every inch of his skin while his skilful hands roamed her body, intent on eliciting moans of pleasure…

A distant shout stirred Arwen from her arousing thoughts. The powerful visions and sensations that had been crawling over her skin only seconds ago faded away. She tried to recall them but it was like clutching at straws. Dismayed she opened her eyes, once more becoming aware of the unbearable heat. She tried to distract herself by admiring the beauty around her – how mystical the morning sunlight appeared as it threw down yellow shafts of light between the topmost leaves of the old tree, right into her hiding place. They lingered in the air, sparkling mystically and turning her pale skin to gold.

She shifted uncomfortably. It was no good. She looked out to the west, towards the pool, but between the screen of leaves she could only descry rare sparkles from the water and flashes of bold colour from the butterflies and dragonflies. There was nothing absorbing to watch.

Even in the shade of the willow, she was too hot. And the tightness of her dress was extremely frustrating. Unfortunately it was one that had been made to fit her stunning figure exactly. Now that it was four months since the passionate night on which Arwen suspected their child had been conceived, her swelling tummy protruded irrevocably through the rich magenta velvet. There was an obvious curve on her stomach and only a complete fool would not realise that elves were not fat unless they were with child.

Arwen did not mind that her rounded tummy was not in the slightest bit concealed if she was alone with Aragorn, for if she dared admit it she felt even more aroused and she yearned for Aragorn to run his fingers all over her bare skin, over her tummy and… below. It did not help that she could see the desire in his eyes every time he raked his gaze appreciatively over her form when they were alone. She knew he found her even more attractive and that made it even more difficult to part with him each day, when the longing was pulsating between them so fiercely. Arwen shook her head and smiled, reminding herself that though she was now mortal she and Aragorn still had many years ahead of them in which they could delight in each other's company.

She clutched the rough bark and pulled herself to her feet, gasping as her dress seemed to constrict around her waist. She winced and was overcome with a wild desire to tear the whole garment off – or even better to persuade Aragorn to do it. For of course she knew that after that he would not turn away without worshipping her body, and how she ached for him.

Struggling to dispel all discomfort from her senses, Arwen emerged from under the tree and the crisp leaves trailed back over her face and shoulders. Assaulted by the direct heat of the sun, she hastened to the bank and among the reeds so that she could dip her feet into the cool water. The wonderful release made her moan and she closed her eyes in bliss. The only thing that was stopping her from sliding completely into the water was that she had no change of clothes or blanket to conceal herself in afterwards.

She was just imagining what fun she could indulge in if she persuaded Aragorn to join her in the water some other day when the tranquillity of the garden was disturbed by two voices. Arwen was perplexed. The townsfolk rarely entered the garden, not wishing to disturb her. Was something wrong?

She stood and shook the water off her gleaming wet feet before slowly drifting back through the long grass towards the trees, from whence the voices came. One was rapidly drawing closer, while the other, who had a much lower voice, seemed further away. But who were they?

Arwen came to a standstill, apprehensively watching the shadows under the trees for any sign of movement. Without any warning a tall figure ran out into the open, but he was looking over his shoulder at something behind. He wore a pale green tunic, and after he had turned back to face her his long blonde hair streamed behind him as he ran.

"Legolas!" Arwen exclaimed, and upon hearing her greeting his eyes sought her out. A smile crept up his face and he rushed to embrace her.

"Arwen, mae govannen! How are you?" he asked, releasing her and seeking out her eyes. Arwen smiled at him warmly, but before she could answer she realised that the elf was looking at her very curiously. She faltered under his piercing gaze and suddenly felt very vulnerable.

"Arwen…!" he murmured, his tone one of astonished delight. He began to smirk.

"What is it?" she asked, feeling very bewildered. "Legolas-?"

Chuckling he flicked his eyes downwards and back up again, raising his eyebrows at her. Arwen followed his gaze and her heart skipped a beat as she realised that without her shawl it was very obvious to Legolas that she was pregnant. She took a step back and glanced up at him, filled with fear. Now it was time for confusion to cross Legolas' face, but before he could say anything Arwen had turned away from him, shielding her bump and feeling unbidden tears welling in her eyes.

"Arwen - " Legolas breathed, and she felt him gently lift her hair off her face so that he could see her. She tentatively looked up into his eyes as a tear slipped down her face. He gazed at her in concern. "Please, do not cry, Undómiel," he murmured, brushing his fingers over her cheek to wipe the tear away. He fetched her shawl from underneath the willow tree and carefully wrapped it around her so that it fell over the bump. With a sniffle Arwen gave him a grateful smile and leant upon his shoulder, feeling better as he wrapped a comforting arm around her.

"I am sorry to have upset you," Legolas whispered, "but I already knew. I could see it in your eyes."

It was then that Arwen remembered how elves were able to perceive if a maiden was pregnant and she berated herself for forgetting; she supposed it was a sign of spending most of her recent time around mortals. She sighed and nodded.

"Forgive me, Legolas," she apologised, blushing.

He was about to reply when there was another loud shout from the trees. Surprised, Arwen turned to see a short figure hurtling out, growling as he did so.

"Legolas, mark my words when I say I shall catch you one of these days! I can easily outrun you in a sprint! It's just this confounded heat!" It was Gimli.

Legolas laughed wholeheartedly. "Perhaps you would like to race me in the snow? Or on ice?" he jested, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

The dwarf grumbled but slowed to a jog anyway, clutching a stitch in his side. Even _he_ was not wearing lots of clothes, only a thin dark red tunic and sandals, with his big hairy toes showing. His face matched the scarlet of his top and he was puffing like a whistling winter gale.

"Gimli!" Arwen smiled, knowing her secret would be safe from him at any rate, "it is lovely to see you." The dwarf graciously bowed low and looked up at her admiringly.

"My lady, you look more beautiful every time I see you." Arwen felt her cheeks grow hot and she quickly glanced away in modesty. Gimli chortled and wheezed. "Come on laddie, let's find some shade."

He and Legolas walked over to the lagoon, both admiring the beautiful place. Arwen hesitated, still unsettled by the fact that Legolas knew her secret. She fiddled with the fringe of her shawl, unsure of how to proceed.

"Arwen, are you joining us?"

She sighed and followed her friends over to a patch of shade by the pool. All three sat down among the reeds and irises on a high bank looking south towards the trees. Arwen was again struck by the vivid memory of once sitting here with Aragorn that fateful evening a few months ago. It had been an incredibly passionate night and the thought of it immediately set her pulse racing. She glanced down guiltily and tried to clear her thoughts lest Legolas read them.

"So what have you been doing recently Arwen?" Gimli asked, splashing his feet into the water.

"Usually I come to the gardens," she explained politely, "I love the wild flowers and the archways under the trees, for I feel as if I am back home in Lórien. I do not have much to do whilst Aragorn is working in the chambers with the other lords. We usually have only the evenings together." She could not hide the sadness from her voice.

"Yes, we also found it difficult to speak to him earlier," Gimli said, nodding grimly. Arwen looked up in surprise. She had not realised that they had already gone up to the citadel and come back down, so early in the day. "But actually, he seemed quite glad to see us," Gimli continued, unaware of having captured her interest.

Legolas suddenly started. "Forgive me for not telling you earlier, Arwen, but my thoughts were distracted! Aragorn would like to see you. He informed us that there is an important matter about which he would like to speak to you, and that you should be careful. We offered to bring you to him, and he assented. He knew where you would be." Arwen's eyes widened and she leapt to her feet. The elf and dwarf looked up at her in surprise.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I must take my leave now." She readjusted her shawl and began to walk away across the grass.

"We will see you later, I hope?" Legolas called after her, looking anxious.

She sent them both a fleeting smile. "Yes, do come to our evening meal, you will both be very welcome." Then she turned away and started to run back through the trees, the farewells of Gimli and Legolas left far behind.


	5. The Light

5. The Light

Arwen rode back up to the citadel as fast as she could, ignoring the stares of onlookers as her horse weaved in and out of them and cantered up the road loudly. She passed through the gateway to the topmost level and caught sight of Aragorn standing on the white steps leading down from the Great Hall. Her horse slowed down to a less conspicuous trot while Aragorn ran down the steps to meet her by the Tree. Arwen leapt down and fled into his open arms, burying her face in his soft shirt and breaking down into tears.

"Arwen? What's wrong, meleth?" Astonished, Aragorn looked down at the trembling elf clinging tightly to him. "Arwen? _Arwen?"_

The only response he received was a stifled sob. Concerned he wrapped his arms around her and held her comfortingly in a close embrace, all the while struggling to determine what might have made her so distressed. There was the faint sound of pattering on his shirt and he felt a wetness seep through to his skin from her streaming tears. Her grip on him was so strong, it was as if she never wanted to let go.

Aragorn blinked in surprise and his throat tightened. The sight of Arwen so unhappy, when she was usually so calm, tore at his heart. He strained to see her face but she was hiding herself in his shirt very well. Aragorn brought up one hand and slowly coaxed her chin up, looking deep into her blue eyes. They were red-ringed and she quavered, as if unable to endure his gaze. She shut her eyes and rivers of tears squeezed out and ran down her flushed cheeks.

"Meleth," Aragorn murmured, he tentatively stroking her cheek. More tears fell onto his fingers. His eyes filled with concern and he took her hands in his, holding them to his chest. "Meleth, what happened?"

Arwen bowed her head, shaking even harder. She suddenly took a sharp intake of breath.

"He knows," she stammered, and as if the words made it somehow more real, she winced and collapsed into his arms again, crying silently but uncontrollably.

"Who knows what?" Aragorn asked her softly, stroking her long raven hair down the length of her back. He was finding it difficult comprehend that his Evenstar could be broken down like this, when he had never seen her so tearful before. It worried him intensely.

"Leg-olas," came a moan, half muffled by his damp shirt. Aragorn's heart skipped a beat. He thought he had discerned Legolas' name from her sobs, not because he had heard it clearly, but because the elf had also been on his mind. He dreaded what might have happened.

"What does Legolas know?" he asked her cautiously, praying that it was not what he thought it was. But it would explain Arwen's extremely upset behaviour, and even though it would not have been Legolas' intention to upset Arwen, he regretted letting the elf go anywhere near her.

Now he found that Arwen was barely standing on her own feet, she was rendered so weak by the distress that consumed her. He tightened his hold on her and cradled her to him, keeping her standing. She felt so helpless in his arms, using him as her shield from all harm and fear, and the act moved him. He urgently needed to find out what was wrong, otherwise he would never be able to soothe her and take her somewhere private so that she could recover into a presentable state.

"Estel," she whimpered. He kissed the top of her head reassuringly. "Estel…" she choked out, "he _knows_… he knows that I'm _pregnant_," she sobbed.

"Shhhhh," Aragorn soothed her, and gently rubbed his hand over her back. So his fears were true. As soon as Legolas had burst through the doors early that morning, he had realised that the elf would realise that Arwen was pregnant if he spent much time in close proximity to her. He had asked the elf to send her to see him immediately. But it seemed that Arwen had not taken her leave quite fast enough.

"Arwen, meleth nín," he whispered, and cupped her fragile face in his hands. "Undómiel, don't cry; please." He gazed into her sparkling eyes. "It breaks my heart."

He took one of her hands in his, and with the other he brought out a handkerchief and gently brushed the tears from her face. She smiled back weakly. Aragorn's expression warmed and he carefully rearranged her shawl over her body, to prevent any further accidents. He had noticed that the Guards were glancing between each other and Arwen, and he did not want Arwen to suffer any more this morning.

Now he took her around to the side of the White Tower, where there was a small white gate that led to their private garden. Here they would not be interrupted or watched. Wordlessly they entered, walking out of sight of the gardens, disappearing among the towering green trees and colourful bushes. Vines and flowers tumbled down around them as they wound their way to the back of the White Tower. They passed under an archway entwined with yellow honeysuckle, and a well-kept lawn spread out from their feet. Flowerbeds overflowing with colourful plants encircled the lawn and separated them from the grove of trees behind.

Aragorn smiled down at her, relieved to see that she had become somewhat eased, and he led her over to a low stone bench in the dappled shade of a great beech tree. They sat down, and as she took her shawl off, she noticed Aragorn's gaze drop downwards.

"Estel?" she murmured, avoiding his eyes. "Am I… still beautiful to you?"

"Arwen!" Aragorn exclaimed. She apprehensively looked back up at him. "Arwen, you are more beautiful than you have ever been! I love you even more every day!" he insisted vehemently, willing her to feel the wealth of love that poured out of his heart for her. Something constricted in the air between them and he found himself rapidly closing the distance, pressing his lips to hers. He could not have restrained himself even if he had wanted to. Her lips parted with a moan that made his body ache with expectancy and he entered her mouth, bringing her body tight against his in the hope of allaying some of the yearning.

He ran his fingers over her pointed ear and then trailed them down her neck, feeling her shudder beneath him. Aragorn found his hands roaming boldly down the low-scooped neckline, over the swell of her velvet-covered chest, and then down to trail paths around her rounded stomach. Arwen kissed him more fervently and a rush of ecstasy tingled through his nerves. She felt like heaven.

After some time she broke away and met his eyes, smiling. His heart was racing; he wondered if she knew. She couldn't possibly realise how much he craved taking her right here and now. He swallowed and tried to suppress such feelings of lust.

"Estel," Arwen whispered, her eyes now twinkling like the sea under the sun. "You know, I don't mind. I don't mind Legolas knowing. You've made me realise that there is something much more important than whether other people know."

Aragorn looked at her questioningly. Before he could ask her what, a mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes, and she suddenly kissed him on the lips. At first he was almost paralysed in shock, but then he groaned in pleasure and pulled her to him, sinking into bliss as her tongue moved urgently against his. She was clearly striving to show him how much she loved him, and she was succeeding so well that he was feeling very lightheaded.

"Arwen!" he gasped as she finally released him. He looked at her in awe and she smiled shyly before lowering her gaze to their entwined hands. Still marvelling at how incredibly resplendent her kisses could be, he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and shifted on the bench, trying to make himself more comfortable after she had made him so aroused. He entwined his fingers in hers, delighted that she had left her unhappiness behind her. He pondered over whether he ought to explain to her how Legolas had known of her predicament.

"Arwen," he began as she laid a chaste kiss on his lips, "did you know that there was a rhyme that spoke of elves discerning that a woman was pregnant from a look in her eyes?" Arwen withdrew and looked at him, puzzled.

Aragorn shook his head, wondering. "My mother told it to me when I was little. I did not understand it then, and it only crossed my mind again this morning. I suppose it is just an old wives' verse." He paused. "It went:

_The elves all have the keenest sight,_

_They see what's at the highest height,_

_But even more than reading lies,_

_They know what's in a mother's eyes."_

Aragorn sighed and his eyes flicked up to hers. "I can understand it now," he whispered. "It is true."

Arwen bit her lower lip. "What light?" she murmured, searching his eyes questioningly.

Aragorn tilted his head to the side and leant in to kiss her cheek. When he withdrew, he remained much closer to her than he had before. "There is a light in your eyes," he murmured, gazing into them, entranced. "It is like a secret, barely perceptible, but it fills your eyes with joy and it makes you glow. I can see it there now, and Legolas must have noticed it too. It is so beautiful, so sweet and pure…" He ended with a sigh and looked down at her bump, tracing his hand lovingly over it. Arwen closed her eyes, savouring the faint warmth and tingling that his touch elicited.

"So you like my light then?" Arwen whispered, opening her lustrous eyes and meeting his own.

"I _love_ your light, meleth nín," Aragorn replied, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. "It makes you even more beautiful than you have ever been in your whole life."

His eyes flickered down to meet hers. They filled with joy and overwhelming desire.

Arwen smiled and kissed him again.


	6. Intense Heat

**A/N: **_Thank you __so much__ to everyone for reviewing, it really means everything to me and makes me very very very very happy! If I continue to receive more reviews I think I will be so happy one day that I will die from happiness! But I don't really mind_ ;)

_Just a note to EbonyBeach: you wondered how old I was. I'm 13, which is Year 9 at school _:)

_I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

6. Intense Heat

Aragorn smiled to himself and hummed along to no particular tune as he walked back to the royal garden where he had left Arwen sitting on the garden bench. He had just collected a basket, laden with aromatic fresh food for their lunch, from the kitchen. Now that she was in such a good mood, he had insisted on spending his lunch break with her alone rather than suffering the company of his council members in the Great Hall for a far less pleasurable meal. He was eager to return to her, but when he passed under the archway and looked towards to stone bench, he did not see Arwen sitting there.

Aragorn faltered and frowned. He hastened closer, wondering where she had gone. Aghast, he turned and looked around him, searching for her.

Suddenly he saw Arwen lying on the grass in the blazing sunlight, her body at a peculiar angle. Her silky hair, splayed out around her, was gleaming like a halo. Aragorn dropped the basket and ran to her, noting with alarm how flushed her face was, how her eyes were closed, and how she gave no sign of movement despite his thudding footsteps. Her hand lay motionless on the grass.

Aragorn fell to his knees at her side. "Arwen!" he cried.

He ran a hand over her forehead and found that she was swelteringly hot, as if with a fever. Still she did not react to his touch. He called her name again, more urgently, all the while scanning her body and passing his hands over her, desperately trying to understand the reason for her unconsciousness. Fearing that something had gone wrong with her pregnancy, he placed both hands carefully on her stomach and closed his eyes, whispering softly in elvish, "No I Melain na le."

He anxiously opened his eyes and saw that Arwen was stirring. But she was breathing very heavily, as if she had just been running. When her eyes flickered open, confusion passed across them, before she recognised his presence and weakly smiled up at him.

"Estel," she murmured faintly, and she sought out his hand. When he squeezed her hand reassuringly she closed her eyes again.

"Arwen? Arwen! What happened?" Aragorn begged for her to speak to him. She opened her eyes wearily again, with her chest still rising and falling rapidly. "Meleth, are you ok?"

Arwen parted her lips so that she could breathe more easily and nodded. "Of course," she whispered, but she promptly coughed. In spite of her assurance, Aragorn noticed how her eyes were beginning to roam around her, as if in panic.

Aragorn sighed in dismay and turned his attention to her bump. He lightly ran his hands over the swell, striving to ascertain whether her baby was alive and healthy. An overwhelming concern and dread took over him whilst he felt for the little child inside and he could hardly breathe out of fear.

"Estel?" Arwen said softly with a tone of astonishment. He saw her watching him in complete bewilderment. "Estel… What in the name of the Valar are you doing?" she murmured, struggling to sit up. Aragorn hastily pushed her back down by the shoulders.

"Arwen, I need to see if everything is fine-" he started.

"Everything _is_ fine," she assured him again. He met her eyes and she hesitated. "Meleth, I can feel… our child is fine," she said more gently. Aragorn sighed and retreated, helping her to sit up. Arwen looked around them in puzzlement.

"Why did you lay me down on the grass?" she asked curiously.

Aragorn stared at her. "Arwen, I did not lay you down here! I found you like this!"

Arwen's breath hitched. "No… but…" She stumbled on her words, her breathing still rapid and shallow. "But I was sitting on the bench, waiting for you. I have no memory lying down here." Her blue eyes fixed upon him questioningly, pleading for him to give her an answer.

"Arwen, something is wrong. You should be able to remember what has happened. Are you in pain anywhere?" Arwen shook her head, looking frightened. Aragorn reached out to caress her cheek reassuringly, but he suddenly jerked back as if scalded.

"Bless the Valar! You are so hot! No wonder… you must have fainted from the heat!"

Without delay he slid his arms underneath her arms and lifted her up, paying great care to her stomach. He carried her over to the shade of the tall beech trees and set her down in the long cool grass. He then fetched the basket, and once he had sat down beside her he searched around inside and withdrew a large pale blue earthenware jug. He undid the catch on the lid and then poured out some water into a glass. Arwen's eyes filled with yearning as she watched the clear water tumbling into the glass, clamouring beautifully and splashing up the sides. He wondered just how parched she was.

Aragorn handed it to her and she slowly raised it to her lips. She drank slowly, but the cool water appeared to help and she drained the entire glass. When she passed it back to him, he saw that her breathing had settled and that her eyes were no longer dulled by the heat. She looked at him and smiled.

Relieved, he poured her another glass, and as she drank it she closed her eyes, savouring its delicious coolness. Aragorn could not help but notice her gleaming pink lips as the water passed through them and into her mouth and he immediately felt a desire to kiss her. Then he scolded himself, reminding himself that he ought not think such things when Arwen had been unwell, but when her eyes remained closed he found himself giving in to his desires, gazing at her perfectly shaped lips, imagining how silky smooth they would feel as they moved against his own in passion…

There was a flicker of blue and Arwen's eyes opened. Aragorn immediately snatched his eyes away, his pulse racing as he quickly ripped the empty glass out of her now-cool hands and began to take out the breads and cheeses and grapes. He could feel Arwen's keen eyes burning into him, but if Arwen suspected anything she did not voice it.

"Thank you, Estel," she murmured. Aragorn stole a glance at her and saw her attention had moved to a group of butterflies dancing around in the sunlight. A peace lay over the garden and aside from the rustlings of food, no sounds could be heard save for the humming of insects and tweeting of birds. They ate in contented silence.

"Estel?" Arwen began, reaching for the knife to cut some cheese, "why did you send Legolas to fetch me? Was there another, more important reason?"

Aragorn looked away into the mid-distance. "A messenger came from Faramir," he said, pausing for a moment to phrase the words in his head. "Something very strange has occurred in the east… not far beyond the boundaries of Mordor, or Lordor as its people now call it… It is most odd, and it does not make any sense…" He realised he was rambling and fell silent. Arwen looked up at him and gently stroked his hair, urging him to continue.

"What has happened?" she asked softly. "Estel? Please tell me."

Aragorn put his face in his hands. "Faramir was with his men, searching the lands just north-east of Mordor. It was at night, not three evenings ago, when they found that their progress was halted. It was too dark to see, so they camped there for the night. When they awoke in the morning, Faramir saw what was really there." Arwen hold on his hand tightened. Aragorn took a deep breath.

"There was a huge river… bright blue and sparkling innocently in the light of the early morning sun. But they could not see the other bank. Not anything at all. They travelled south along the bank, but it did not stop. They rode as fast as possible, galloping down past Mordor even, bearing slightly more west as they went further and further south. It wound its way over the border into Near Harad, and there Faramir stopped. He sent the messenger to me, and he is now riding back north, searching for the source. But nowhere is the eastern bank to be seen. The lands have changed."

Silence filled the warm air. Aragorn turned to look at Arwen but her expression was unreadable as she traced her fingers over the palm of his hand. At first she did not say anything. He wondered if she was afraid, and he pulled her closer to him.

"What do you think has happened?" she said finally.

Aragorn thought about the wide river. "I do not know, meleth nín," he said. "By all realm of reason, it should not have happened. A river that massive does not suddenly form overnight. Even a tiny stream changing its course would take a whole winter, but a river that previously did not exist whatsoever, a river so wide that the other bank is not visible… How can that form overnight? Nothing like that has happened since when the Valar reshaped Arda."

Arwen shifted in his arms and her brow furrowed in thought. Aragorn knew that an idea had occurred to her, and he tried to be patient, but when she still did not speak he said in exasperation, "Fine! Keep your secrets to yourself!"

Arwen turned to look up at him, smiling amusedly, and he grinned, part of him melting at the breathtaking sight.

"Sorry," she whispered. "Estel…" she said slowly, "do you think that the river, do think that it is… that it might be the sea?"

Aragorn gasped. He blinked and looked down at her hand, which was resting on his leg, his mind whirling. Distantly he heard Arwen calling him, but he could barely think he was in such disbelief, let alone speak. There was barely any chance that the body of water could be the sea. But then, there had been even less a chance that it would form right across the hard land, cutting such a profound path. But inside him, Aragorn felt a small recognition of this idea set alight, and if Arwen thought it had happened, then maybe, maybe it was true.

Arwen sat up and her nose brushed against his chin, rousing him from his astounding thoughts. He kissed her lightly on the forehead and she smiled sweetly up at him.

"Arwen," he breathed, looking at her in admiration, "Arwen, I do believe you are _right-!_ You are so – _"_ Arwen pressed a single finger to his lips, silencing the torrent of praise that he was about to unleash, and smiled again, her eyes alight. He gazed at her, feeling his heart crying out for with such boundless love. Her eyes twinkled, as if she knew.

"Estel…" she said softly, her deliberation drawing out his name and raising the hairs on the back of his neck, "Estel… Do you think that Ilúvatar is making your kingdom safer – "

"_Our_ kingdom," Aragorn corrected her, but she took no notice.

" – safer for – for – "

Aragorn looked at her questioningly and she cautiously continued, her eyes fixated unwaveringly on his. " – safer for – our child –?" she whispered, gently bringing his hand to rest on her rounded stomach.

Aragorn's heart leapt into his mouth, urging him to express just how much he loved her, just how much he wished that what she proposed was true, that the Valar were with them. His heart was calling for hers, begging for her touch, willing him to love her with everything he had…

He leant in to lay a tender kiss on Arwen's lips and she moaned into his mouth, beckoning him on. He was swept away in a tide of euphoria. He could feel Arwen's hands creeping up his chest and he lay back down on the grass, pulling her on top of him as their kiss became more fervent. He pulled her more tightly to him, endeavouring to bring her closer than was physically possible, to show just how much he never wanted to be parted from her. He ran his hands down her back, along her thighs, hooking the hem of her dress under his thumbs and slowly teasing it up inch by inch, and he rejoiced in her shudders of excitement. As his hands drew nearer to her hips he anchored her down on his groin, groaning with the thrill of expectant pleasure. How he longed to devour her…

Arwen gasped for a breath, and as their eyes met, suffused with desire, she leant in and whispered against the sensitive spot just behind the angle of his cheekbone, "Let me show you my light…"

She slid her hands under his shirt and tore it off in a trice before lowering herself upon him, her hot mouth pressing tingling trails to his muscular chest. Aragorn cried out and her hands travelled still lower, torturing him in the most exquisite way possible. He was struggling to focus on her face, but when he met her eyes he locked onto them and felt his heart soar. She gave him her most intimate smile and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Aragorn crushed his lips against hers, elated to know that she, the most beautiful, wise, caring elf in Arda, wanted him – _him_, a mere _mortal_. He whimpered as she pressed herself to him, making her intentions even more clear.

Aragorn was suddenly very relieved that they were in their own private garden, where none would disturb them for the next half hour.

Arwen was striving to pleasure him, and though it made Aragorn feel as if he nerves were electrified, more than anything else he wanted to make her feel just as exhilarated as he did. He gently rolled them over, and with one hand he brushed their mingled hair away from her face, so he could kiss her more ardently, and then he let it wind its way downwards, feeling more aroused by the second – over her chest, around her sensitive bump, and then… then she cried out for mercy, and she was only stifled by another kiss.

Their love glowed like fire that summer day in the garden, and all Aragorn needed was Arwen's light to keep him burning.

xxxxxx

**Thank you for reading! Please review and let me know what you think of the story so far, I really appreciate all of your comments! :)**


	7. Running out of Time

7. Running out of Time

Arwen woke to the distant sound of the great bell striking the second hour after dawn. She slowly sat up and rubbed her stomach uncomfortably, feeling somewhat ill and out of sorts. For a moment she watched her husband sleeping peacefully, and then she looked up at the west window of their circular bedroom, admiring the purple shade of the snow-topped mountain beyond and the tiny jade trees dotted on its rocky ledges. A couple of chaffinches fluttered past the window, chirruping along in harmony with the full morning chorus of the birds in their garden. It was no less beautiful than the birdsong she had been used to hearing in Lothlórien. The song at the break of dawn was always one to be unmatched.

Arwen's mind strayed to the strange happenings in east of their kingdom. Since she and Aragorn had found out about the strange water a month ago, Aragorn had decided to send his soldiers to Faramir, in order to help him chart the river's bearings, if indeed it _was_ a river. He had wanted to find out exactly where it cut through the land so that a clear map could be drawn, and maybe more understanding would come out of it. Arwen had also requested for a little bottle of the strange water to be brought back. She believed it important to know whether it was salty or fresh. She still expected that it would be salty, defying everyone else's beliefs.

Unexpectedly Arwen felt a huge wave of nausea ripple throughout her and she clasped a hand to her mouth, trying to suppress the sickness. Next to her Aragorn stirred from his sleep, blinking sleepily at her for a few moments. Arwen could not even greet him, she was so afraid of being violently ill, and was attempting to breathe steadily to stem the nausea. She sat there, very still, and soon Aragorn tiredly closed his eyes again, half-asleep and ready to be fully-asleep, believing that she was fine.

But suddenly she heaved and fled from the bed into the bathroom, startling Aragorn wide awake. Arwen retched over the basin, feeling more ill than she had in many years. She bent over it and wept.

"Arwen?" Aragorn called softly from the next room. She coughed and sniffled, not daring to speak in case it would trigger the nausea again. There was the faint sound of Aragorn's bare feet padding across the sheepskin rug on the floor and he appeared in the doorway, looking at her in puzzlement. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lips, willing her sickness to be hidden from Aragorn so he would not worry. But she could feel his gaze lingering upon her, and after a moment he quietly walked in and laid his hands on her waist, standing behind her. She remained very stiff, putting all her effort into not vomiting in front of him.

"Arwen?"

Realising Aragorn would not leave until she had explained what was going on, she slowly stood up straighter and met his soft eyes. He stroked her hair out of her face and tried to coax her away from the basin, but she whimpered and tightened her hold on it.

"Meleth nín, what's wrong?" Arwen just shook her head and swallowed. She could feel the nausea rising again and uneasily turned back to the basin. She felt Aragorn lacing his arms around her body, resting his hands quite peacefully on her rounded stomach while he kissed her bare shoulder. Normally she would have melted into him at this sensual touch, but right now she could not acknowledge him at all.

Aragorn sighed and withdrew his hands.

"I'll see you down in the Hall," he whispered, walking respectfully out of the room and closing the door quietly behind him.

It was just as well that he had understood that she wanted a bit of privacy, for that second she was violently ill. It was not going to be an easy morning

xxxxxx

Aragorn was spreading some apricot jam on his toast, trying to look attentive while an advisor filled him in on the day's latest news, when he felt someone brush past him. He looked up and saw Arwen there, clutching the back of his chair and looking unsettled. Now Aragorn patently ignored the advisor, musing just how lovely she looked wearing a pale green cloak that lightly grazed over her swelling bump, the sight of which never failed to make him warm inside and rather aroused. However it was still just about small enough for the rest of the occupants of the hall to not realise that it was her tummy pressing through, so he chose not to say anything about it, so as to not trouble her unnecessarily.

The advisor gave a haughty cough. Aragorn turned and thanked him, dismissing him prematurely. Then he returned to Arwen, graciously pulling out a chair for her and helping her sit down as much as he could without arousing suspicion.

"Are you okay, meleth nín?" he asked softly, not wanting their conversation to be overheard by others seated at the table. He laid a hand on one of hers and she nodded slowly, motioning for him to return to his breakfast. He did so obediently but kept glancing up at her unsurely, unhappy to know that she had just been ill. Fortuitously the lords sitting further down the table were engaged in a heated debate about the 'large river' in the east, by the sounds of things arguing over whether it came from the sea or the mountains. Aragorn shook his head weakly and decided it was too early in the day for arguments.

All of a sudden a tremor racked through Arwen's body and she leapt up, her chair screeching as it scraped over the stone floor. Everyone in the room turned to watch her curiously as she ran out of the hall, back through the door to their chambers, without a word of explanation. As soon as she had disappeared, the hall erupted with talk, and Aragorn immediately felt afraid of what rumours might be started about Arwen, and whether she was alright. He felt guilty for not being able to help her.

A nosy young man disturbed him, "What has happened, my lord?" At Aragorn's disapproving gaze the man bowed shortly. Aragorn tried heard not to be irritated by the man's impertinence.

"Err – " He tried to fashion a plausible excuse, with difficulty. "She has probably just remembered something that needs to be tended to without delay," he replied finally, and the man nodded sagely, and as if with an air of great authority he sauntered off to a bench where many eager hands pulled him down, clamouring for his answer. Soon many heads were turning his way and Aragorn felt indignant at the attempts to intrude into his and his wife's privacy. Time dragged and he now felt far less hungry than he had a few minutes ago. After slipping a couple of pieces of toast under his cloak he discreetly departed from the hall, and as soon as he reached the doorway he ran up the steps and into their bedroom, where the door was half-open.

At first Aragorn did not see his wife in the eerily silent room, but then he noticed her standing in the shadows beside the window on the west. He shut the door and joined her. She turned round to see him and a warm smile filled her face, moving him. He sighed and brought her into a close embrace, which he ended by kissing her lightly on the nose.

"How are you, Arwen?" he asked, laying a slice of toast in her hand.

"I am okay," she sighed, smiling wearily at him. "I believe it is just a little morning sickness…" She began to nibble the toast and he joined in, his appetite returning along with hers. They stood there eating, watching the early sun light up the beautiful landscape outside their window.

"As it is a Saturday, what would you like to do today, Estel?" Arwen asked. The corners of Aragorn's lips tugged up, knowing she was playing with him seeing as this was a day that they had planned for some days. That evening there was to be a competition in the Great Hall after a wonderful feast. Many couples were to perform dances in front of everyone, and then the people would vote for who they thought was the best. Aragorn and Arwen were going to perform a dance as well.

"Oh, I think I can make time for one more practise," Aragorn teased, a twinkle in his eye. Arwen laughed quietly and wrapped an arm around him.

"Make sure we do…" she whispered into his ear, and his heart rapidly accelerated, anticipating much more than just a dance. Her eyes flickered away but Aragorn leant nearer to her, sliding his arms around her warm body and pressing a kiss to her slender neck. Arwen tipped her head away, exposing more flesh to him, and he gently sucked, eliciting a delightful moan.

"What will my Evenstar be wearing this evening?" he murmured, his voice low and velvety as he imagined how beautiful she would look that night, and how much he desired her. He could not help but wish the evening would come sooner. "Will you wear my favourite dress for me?" The dress he loved more than any other was a sapphire blue piece that had been made for Arwen by the elves in Rivendell. It was spangled with silver flowers and entwining vines that sparkled and glimmered to match her own magical eyes.

"Estel?" Arwen said uneasily, glancing up at him and frowning. "Estel, you know I can't. You know I have to wear my long dark cloak." She pulled away and Aragorn let her go, realising he had said something wrong. "You _know_ I can't," she repeated, looking at him with an unusual fire in her calm eyes. Aragorn stepped back, shocked at her sudden change. She brought a hand down over her round stomach protectively. There was an uncomfortable silence and he bowed his head, feeling shameful for having upset her.

"I'm sorry," he heard her murmur and he looked up, surprised. She glanced away from him guiltily. "Please forgive me, Estel. I do not know why I was so unreasonable." She looked thoroughly wretched and Aragorn felt sorry for her, understanding how unpleasant it must be to feel her emotions shifting so much as the months went on.

"There is nothing to be forgiven," he said softly, moving over and cuddling her. She fell yieldingly into his arms and he planted kisses on the top of her head. "I just think you look even more stunning in that dress than in any other," he explained.

Immediately he felt a change in her again and she became rigid in his hold. "Arwen, what's wrong?"

Straight away she broke from his grasp, anger and hurt flaring in her eyes. "Estel! You should know why I can't wear it!" she shouted, unnerving him immensely. "In case you did not _know_, as you do not seem to, _this-" _she threw the cloak off and placed and hand on her round bump, "_this_ is why I can't wear it! I do not want people to see that I am with child!"

Aragorn recoiled, his back flat against the wall, stunned by Arwen's uncharacteristic fury. Of course he knew why she did not want to wear such a revealing dress, but by now he was beginning to find it silly that she still did not want anyone to know that she was pregnant. They would have to find out sometime soon, and today seemed like the perfect opportunity.

"But-"

"Estel! You don't understand!" Arwen cried out, her voice wavering. Suddenly she collapsed onto the bed, tears streaming out of her eyes, while Aragorn stared on numbly. He stood there dumbstruck, watching her choke on her tears while she cradled her bump and shook.

Aragorn tentatively sat down beside her, reaching out to comfort her. But Arwen turned away, her long hair shielding her face from him. He felt incredibly guilty for making Arwen cry, even though he did not fully understand how he had done so. He slowly edged nearer and was relieved when this time she did not move away. He put his arm around her waist and with the other hand he drew back her hair, seeing her glistening cheeks.

"Meleth nín…" he whispered. Arwen lifted her eyes to meet his, took one look at his concerned face, and then broke down sobbing on his chest.

"I am so sorry," she mumbled, wiping her eyes to no avail. The sobs would not abate and she could not stop trembling. Aragorn just held her and waited for the tears to subside.

"No," he replied, rubbing her back soothingly, "it was my fault. I apologise." Arwen looked up and shook her head as Aragorn tucked some of her ebony hair behind her pointed ear.

"I am just being silly," she insisted, gratefully taking the white handkerchief that Aragorn was offering to her. He smiled as she wiped her eyes, and though the tears had ended, her cheeks remained flushed and her eyes bloodshot.

Yet now he was wondering whether he should persuade Arwen to _not _wear his favourite dress, for with his hand resting on her bump he had suddenly noticed how big she was becoming and he suspected that Arwen had not actually realised how she would look in the dress. He was quite sure that, although the dress had been gentler and more flowing than her other tight-cut ones, she would now not be able to get it on – or if she did squeeze into it, it would be with great difficulty. They would not be able to hide the fact that she was pregnant for much longer. People were bound to notice, even with the two of them carefully ensuring that she always wore a cloak nowadays. She would need new clothes in the very near future – if he was honest with himself, she already did now, but she had not wanted to say anything…

Aragorn had a feeling that people would find out about her pregnancy soon, but he did not know when, and he was not sure if he actually wanted to know when precisely. Arwen seemed a rather more emotional than usual at the moment, and her reaction would lie in the balance, for her mood at the time to decide.

But right now Aragorn was convinced that Arwen had no idea that her stomach was so much larger and rounder. If she put her beautiful dress on later then she would find out, and he did not want to know what would happen when she did, given this morning's outburst.

"Estel?" Arwen murmured, snuggling further into his hold. "I'm going to wear the dress," she announced, and smiled up at him.

Aragorn was warmed by the knowledge that she wanted to make him happy, but he groaned inwardly, still concerned about what her reaction would be if she did put the dress on.

"No, it doesn't matter…" he said offhandedly. "You look beautiful in anything you wear."

Arwen's eyes sparkled and she sat up to face him, rubbing her back as she did so. "Estel, please do not worry about it. I will wear your favourite dress." She smiled, taking his hand into hers.

"But – " Aragorn tried to plead with her, yet Arwen leant in and silenced him with a soft kiss on the lips.

"Estel… Please… Let me do this," she murmured, gazing into his eyes persuasively. Aragorn's heart gave a jump as he saw her love glowing in the bright light of her blue eyes. He knew he could not bear it if he hurt her in any way. But she seemed so sure, so pleased to make him happy.

"Shhh," she whispered, noticing worry passing over his face. She traced her fingers over his troubled brow. "Trust me… trust _us_." She brought his hand gently down onto her rounded stomach, which was protruding unhindered through her dress. Aragorn felt a delightful warmth radiating out, the warmth of their tiny baby sleeping there.

"Arwen," he gasped, his heart racing at the joy of feeling their child, the child that had been created from their love, living here within his beloved elf.

Arwen just smiled, and delighting in the knowledge that only she and Aragorn knew what was growing there beneath his hand.


	8. The love dance

8. The Love Dance

Arwen giggled and leapt around Aragorn, her long hair flashing in the sun and her eyes alive with humour. She watched Aragorn as he regained his balance and fixed his eyes back upon her, preparing to dart after her.

They were practising their dance for that evening's little competition in the Great Hall. Many couples were taking part and, seeing as it was Arwen's idea and Aragorn had arranged it all, Éowyn had pointed out that it was only fair they performed a dance too.

She and Aragorn had already known which dance they would do, for it was one that they had often danced together, when the lyre was soft and the candles had burnt down low, and the mood was romantic and intimate. The dance was one that Lúthien and Beren had first made, and then it had been passed down to Eärendil and Elwing, and now it was with Arwen and Aragorn. They had first danced it in Imladris many years ago, and it had always been an incredibly special dance to the two of them, due to the meaning that it carried. It was traditionally a dance that only the descendants of Lúthien and Beren could accomplish, for it was vital that the dancers were lovers, where one was mortal and the other was of elven blood.

The dance had three parts: first the two lovers danced separately, each trying to steal the other's attention and heighten their interest and desire. That was how Beren first set eyes Lúthien, dancing ahead of him in the forest. The second part consisted of one chasing the other, each in turn, playful and teasing, just as Lúthien had eluded Beren when he sought to speak to her. Arwen and Aragorn had themselves made the third and final part of the dance. Here the lovers drew together, their limbs entwining as they twirled around each other, moving ever faster to reflect their growing love, each pulling the other ever closer until she finally fell into his arms, subjecting herself to his advances, and he caught her, promising to love her and care for her for all his life.

It was their story, told in dance, and it was drawn from the heart. No other dance to music had ever felt so right. Although Aragorn been reluctant to dance it in front of onlookers on their wedding day, Arwen had urged him to just follow his heart and from there it had all flowed naturally. The dance had remained the same ever since, coming to them by nature the moment they locked eyes.

Now, as they ran through their final practice, they were nearing the close. That evening there was to be a lyre and two flutes dueting in harmony as the couple danced, but for now the melody ingrained in them was playing through each of their minds and was quite sufficient. Adrenaline was flooding Arwen's blood, enhancing her excitement and enjoyment of the dance. By this point the speed was exceedingly fast, testing Aragorn's reflexes as they each sprang over to where their partner was – but by the time their feet touched the soft grass, only moments later, their partner had already somewhere else.

Aragorn grinned mischievously as he chased Arwen, determined to catch her before he was spent. She felt his hands ghost upon her body but before he could close in she pranced out of the way, laughing brightly. She suddenly skipped inwards, and Aragorn immediately followed. They danced under and around each other, constantly moving within a tight space, never letting the tempo slacken. She was mesmerised by the rhythm rippling through Aragorn's muscular body and allowed her instincts to guide her own footsteps and movements as she allowed herself to focus solely on him.

She accentuated her body's curves, twirling her arms above her head, elongating her long neck, arching her back, all of which taunted Aragorn and made him whine in desire. Feeling daring, she whipped her long hair over her shoulder and fixed him under a sidelong gaze while running her hands down her twisting body, experiencing a flare of excitement when lust consumed Aragorn's heated stare. She equally desired him, noting with delight how the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing his tanned chest, and instantly her fingers itched to touch him. As the wind pulled his thin shirt tight against his body, his toned muscles were highlighted and the understanding that he was both able and willing to protect her from the fiercest threat made her ache with joy.

They leapt around each other's feet, daring the other to touch them but always pulling away before they had a chance to do so. Aragorn held his arms above her and she dodged underneath, the sway of her hips making him groan in hunger.

They danced quicker and quicker, nearer and nearer, always teasing each other until she could take it no longer and she could feel Aragorn's thirst reaching breaking point. Then Arwen slipped backwards, closing her eyes, trusting Aragorn to swoop in underneath her and catch her.

The dance stopped in a flash. Arwen was lying in his arms while he bent over her, their warm, heavy breaths meeting in the small distance between them. Aragorn slowly brought up a hand and ran his fingers across her forehead, then down past her pointed ears, towards her smooth chin, nudging her delicate lips. Arwen shivered and could bear his game no longer. Her eyes flickered open, capturing Aragorn's gaze. He began to draw closer and her heart leapt, rejoicing in seeing so clearly the one she loved want her so intimately. She ever so slowly began to run the tip of her tongue over her pink lips, drawing Aragorn's eyes downwards. They filled with desire and suddenly he crushed his lips to hers against hers. With gay abandon they fell openly into each other's mouth, their tongues dancing together and urgently seeking fulfilment. Arwen reached up and grasped the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to her aching body. Aragorn moaned and bent his knees, slowly lowering them both onto the grass.

Now that he did not need to hold her weight, Aragorn's hands began to roam her body, gravitating to her sumptuous curves and making her tingle with expectation. He could do nothing to resist the beautiful elf who submitting to him so exquisitely. Sure enough, when his fingers slipped down and began to trace paths up her leg, Arwen arched herself into him and passionately deepened their kiss. He dragged her dress up her thighs painfully slowly, his intimate touch scorching her skin, and as he neared the apex she broke away from their kiss and whimpered hopelessly.

Her eyes pleaded with him but Aragorn denied her, skimming the very tips of his fingers only lightly over her underwear. Intent on torturing him equally, Arwen also let her fingers wander down his browned chest, deftly releasing the buttons and divesting him of the garment, which he hastily threw off. Her hand moved over his muscular shoulder and descended further down below his waist, until she felt his hardness. At her touch Aragorn instinctively thrust into her, moaning loudly. A fierce lust shot through her body and she pulled him down onto the grass so that they were both lying on their sides. Then she pressed against him, stroking his length through the straining material, glorying in his wonderful hardness. He groaned and hungrily brought her into a kiss, running his hand over her bump, which was straining through her dress. Tingles rippled through her body, concentrating in an unbearable tingling at the top of her thighs. She gasped and Aragorn dipped his fingers under the lace of her damp underwear, finally satisfying her.

"Estel," she murmured, shivering with pleasure.

"Yes?" he whispered in between kisses, removing his fingers and letting them migrate to her breasts. The dress was so low-cut that it was marvellously easy to slip his hand underneath and cup her plump breasts. He gently squeezed her nipples between his fingertips and she gave a long, slow sigh.

"You're just so…" She broke off as she gave him another kiss on the lips.

Aragorn knew the sentence would never be finished. His hands migrated to her back.

"This dress is too small," he commented.

Arwen raised her eyebrows. "Perhaps you should take it off," she whispered, tracing a finger over his toned chest. Unable to stop herself, she leant in and pressed a hot kiss to his chest. Suddenly he impatiently chopped a hand down the back of her velvety dress, and the clasps broke off, undone. Arwen caught her breath and looked up at him in amazement.

"And perhaps I should buy you a new one," he murmured seductively, rolling her down onto her back. He gradually pulled the dress down over her see-through thin shift, trying to restrain his urges as he saw her arch her back to help him, and he tugged the dress more forcefully over her swollen waist. With the now-torn dress about her ankles, he resumed their kissing and pressed himself to her, delighting in the thinness of the material now covering her beautiful body.

Gradually his fingers found their way underneath Arwen's white shift and he pressed them to her soft breasts, gently massaging. Arwen stilled and looked up slowly into Aragorn's eyes. He discerned a strange fire within and she smiled, suddenly rolling over and away from him. Aragorn stared at her in shock and amazement. He crawled over to her, already missing her luxurious body, but when his hands stretched out to touch her waist she laughed and leapt to her feet. He looked up at her in disbelief, his eyes full of pitiful yearning.

"If you want me, Estel," she murmured, "you shall have to catch me." She parted her lips, which were curved into a teasing smile. Then she bit her full lower lip and her eyes shone brightly with love and desire.

Aragorn immediately caught on to her flirtatious mood and grinned, quickly reaching out to pull her back down. But she danced out of the way and skipped off, laughing as he scrambled up to chase her. He pelted after her, the warm breeze blowing through his hair, but when Arwen glanced behind and saw him rapidly catching up with, she ran faster and fled into the grove of trees where she could more easily hide out of sight. Here yellow shafts of light were thrown down between the emerald leaves, and everywhere Arwen's feet passed, little white flowers bloomed, as if trying to distract him from his quarry. Aragorn concentrated hard on catching Arwen, knowing that it would be a tight match between him, being a healthy male but of the race of Men, and her, of the swift-footed Elven race but with child. Her beautiful body, dashing gracefully among the trees, was almost hypnotising, and soon he couldn't tear his eyes away, he wanted her so badly. Her game was only intensifying his desire for her.

He heard her laughter on the wind, and his skin tingled as if electrified. He saw her white shift pinned against her body as she ran and the sight of her soft curves made him groan in longing. To his relief, Arwen finally left the grove and slowed down as she entered a secluded glade, where the grass was rich and sprinkled with pink blossom from the adjacent trees. She came to a standstill and turned, her eyes fixed upon him strikingly as he approached. He slowed to a walk but there was a mutual understanding in their eyes: he had caught her and there was now way she would escape now.

He approached her without saying a word, calmly placing one foot before the other, inside but his heart was thumping loudly like great drum. A light gust of wind blew and Arwen's hair streamed out behind her, while ripples flew over her shift, drawing his eyes down and making his heart hurt with want. His hands ached to touch her smooth skin, and his mouth watered to kiss her. His arms felt empty without her delicate body, and his heart felt nothing without hers. Arwen herself was showing no emotion, but he could discern the tell-tale flickering in her sapphire eyes, and he knew she was as aroused as he was.

At last, he stood a yard away from her, and they just looked at each other, their gaze displaying their love more than words ever could.

Slowly, Arwen reached out a quivering finger and slowly traced it down the centreline of his chest. The sensation was unbearable; Aragorn pulled Arwen against his body and wrapped his arms around her so tightly, it was as if he was starved animal finally getting its paws on the most delicious feast. He took her mouth into his and kissed her ardently, desperately. He wanted compensation for her cruel toying with him, and she let him without hesitation, returning the kiss with equal intensity. Immersed in pleasure, Aragorn pressed her to his hard body, revelling in the feel of her soft body against his, her round breasts against his bare chest with only feather-thin material between them, his hips tight against hers. Arwen gasped for breath, winding her arms around his neck and burying herself in his sweet-smelling hair.

"You thought you could slip away, did you?" Aragorn murmured in her ear. Arwen smiled and brushed her lips over his ear, before nibbling the lobe and kissing the sensitive area of his neck below. Aragorn groaned and his hands roamed over her back, pulling her flush against his body.

"You should know better…" Aragorn murmured, his voice dangerously soft. "You can _never_ escape me." Arwen laughed softly, and when he tickled her unexpectedly her at the waist she screamed and they fell over together, clinging to each other in the long grass that shaded them from the sun.

Arwen layered kisses upon the vulnerable region of his neck, staying his tickling fingers and making him groan weakly. She dipped her fingers below his waistband and he cried out, encouraging her to pull down his trousers while he felt the contours of her body, blazing with desire. Arwen smiled contentedly at the revelation made known by his lack of outer garments, pressing her hand against the bulge in his underwear, and squeezing playfully. He kissed her deeply, searching her mouth and moving his tongue erotically against hers. His love was manifested right there in the way he kissed her, in the way he moved his aroused body tightly against hers.

Aragorn pushed himself up and pinned her to the ground, leaning over her body. He grinned cheekily, as if he was once more the young man she had met long ago in Imladris.

"How I love you, Arwen Undómiel," he sighed breathily. Then without much more than a caress of her shoulder, he cunningly slipped off her shift, making her heart skip a beat. Under Aragorn's burning gaze she closed her eyes, savouring the titillating sensation of his fingers drawing the shift down lower and lower, until it was laced around her ankles and he descended upon her once more, thrusting his hips suggestively against hers in order to satisfy the throbbing ache that was rising within him. The sight of her almost naked before him heightened his arousal even further and he pulled Arwen hard against him, smiling as she too moaned with pleasure.

As they rolled over each other through the springy grass, the shift was left far behind and unnoticed. Aragorn felt awakened to her love, as if it was somehow tangible experience, just a breath away. His body tingled continuously, wanting to express his love for her fully, to give her an experience she would never forget. It seemed she felt the same way. Their hands simultaneously slid down to the other's waist, teasing away the restrictive underwear, and when she brushed over his hard form he whimpered, almost in tears from the wonderful sensation she evoked within him. He found himself melting before her, sucking on her pale white throat just to stop himself from weeping in ecstasy. His fingers mirrored her movement, fluttering over her and relishing in her beautiful, moist softness. She threw back her head and cried out, pleading for more. He moved his hands to her hips and set her upon him, gasping as she brushed her softness up and down his length. They rocked together, their hips moving rhythmically in time with their bounding hearts.

Nothing in the world could stop him now. This was the time to bring his love for her to life, his wondrous adoration of her beautiful body to a single act of pleasure, vivid and earth-shattering.

Without second thought he thrust inside her, overcome with love, and she sought out his mouth, kissing him sweetly. He sensed her escalating desire, which pulled him on, making him move more quickly, determined to fuel their bonded love, to show her that they would always be bound together in love, always in beautiful happiness.

He teased her legs further apart and passed his hand over her bump, sinking more and more into a realm of physical delight. Their tongues moved together in harmony, like an echo of the sensual dance they had done earlier. Everything Aragorn did was out of love for her, of even greater love now that she was pregnant and they were to soon have a child born out of their union. Entwined together in raptures, they felt like they could never stop. It was unbearably brilliant, their love too stunning, their pleasure painfully dazzling. This was the precious moment when love was unlocked from their hearts and entered into a physical form, and Arwen and Aragorn together reached the place where their love collided and erupted into the purest light of euphoria.


	9. Tinuviel

9. Tinúviel

"Arwen! Stop!" Aragorn laughed as she finally stopped kissing his neck and instead cuddled him longingly, running one finger down over the bare part of his chest.

"Arwen, we have to go!" He pried her fingers away, smiling as she tried to kiss him again. He caught her in his arms before she could reach his lips and he firmly steered her towards their door. Arwen moaned and wriggled in his grasp, twisting round to see his bemused face.

"We don't want to be late, meleth," he said, raising his eyebrows as he shut their bedroom door behind. It was halfway through the evening, and the dances had already begun. They had left just prior to the one before theirs starting, when Arwen said that she 'needed something _urgently_'. Aragorn had worriedly whisked her up to their room, only to find that Arwen's 'need' was to kiss him as hard as she could and let her tongue search his extremely surprised mouth.

She pleaded with her husband, her cloak falling off her shoulders as she pulled out of his hands. Flashing him a very seductive smile, she caught Aragorn off guard, and saying, "just one more" she gave him another kiss, his eyes closing as she took his breath away for Valar knows which time it was now, drawing his love out into her mouth. She knew he could not resist at this instant, not when they were actually kissing, and she leant in closer to him, her hands running through his silky hair, her body pressing against his.

Aragorn ran out of all his breath and he tore away, panting heavily and letting go of her weakly. He leant against the cool stone wall, trying to calm his breathing down again.

"How many times have I asked you not to do that!" he joked, and smiled as she fondled his hair with her soft fingers. "Come on, we really should be down there. So much for your need…!" He tutted and she giggled, walking down the few steps with his hand around her waist. As they reached the bottom, nearing the door into the Hall, they stopped together. Aragorn adjusted her twilight cloak over her properly, making sure it covered her body completely. Then he tied the velveteen cords together on the inside, around her waist, fastening it over her rounded stomach so that it would not fall open.

"It tickles!" Arwen giggled, moving around violently as his fingers moved over her sensitive stomach. Twice he had to start again, dropping the strings as Arwen squirmed about.

"Meleth, stop wriggling!" he sighed, but grinned anyway. He didn't know if she really was ticklish there, or whether she was just pretending. Either way he didn't mind and she was still in a very … good mood, to say the least, from this afternoon's 'activities'.

"Mind my tummy!" Arwen exclaimed, looking down to watch Aragorn's fingers twisting the cords together. Her long dark hair fell forward as she did so, and she tossed it back so that she could still see him. If she tried to stay still, it only made his fingers tickle even more, but Aragorn seemed to be coping, and as he stepped back and pulled the cloak over her large stomach, he looked pleased with what he had done. And if Estel was happy, then she was happy.

Sliding his arm once more around her, Aragorn lead the way back into the Hall of Kings, walking quietly around to the left, watching the present couple coming to the climax of their dance. Everyone was sitting on cushions on the floor, and even Aragorn had insisted that although he was the King, he would sit down there with everybody else. He helped Arwen sit back down next to Éowyn, and then he folded his legs beneath him as he too sank onto an especially squidgy purple cushion.

But they barely had time to look up before the dance finished and the fiddle players struck the last note. The two dancers bowed and curtsied and then walked off the small stage on the far side, going back to their places. Arwen watched Faramir as he walked up the two steps to the long platform and clapped with the rest of the audience. He then signalled for everybody to be quiet and a hushed silence lay all through the Hall. She could feel the anticipation lingering in the air held as Faramir took a breath to begin.

"Well done, that was a lovely dance." He smiled, but knew the people wanted to know they would see next. "Right," he said, pausing slightly. His eyes flickered down to the side and brushed over her and Aragorn. "Umm, now we have King Elessar and his Queen Arwen-"

There was a huge roar, and Arwen smiled as she saw all the eager faces turn towards them and the many hands waving in the air. She suddenly noticed that Aragorn was already standing, and he gave her his hand as she stepped up beside him.

Faramir was struggling to make himself heard over all the noise. He took to beginning every two seconds, but then he just gave up and waited until everyone ran out of breath. Then he smiled at the beautiful couple, and looked back around the hall.

"Tonight they will be doing the dance 'Tinúviel'."

Arwen turned her eyes to Aragorn, and he smiled gently to her, taking her warm hand. Then as the applause ran throughout the building they walked together to the platform and up the small steps, passing Faramir on his way down. She saw him nod to Aragorn as he brushed by, and then everything was quiet. Still holding hands, they stood at the head of the wide platform, seeing it stretch out far before them.

Arwen's heart began to beat slightly faster now as she realised they were nearly there. She felt Aragorn walking her forward, a third of the way down, and then he stopped and she mirrored him. Slowly she turned to face him, her eyes nervously looking at the ground as she felt the butterflies in her stomach. Then she heard Aragorn's soft voice calling her, but whether aloud or in her mind she did not know. She brought her eyes up and locked them with his, sensing their hearts joining together.

"Arwen, no matter what happens, just follow your heart." She held his gaze and nodded ever so slightly, showing that she had heard him. Her lips parted as she took a breath.

And then they started.

As one flute played the first note Arwen brought her hands down, and then as the other flute joined she was off, her feet skipping in time to the quick melody, her eyes closing as she spun around, with her arms way above her head. She opened them in time to see Aragorn also springing in time to the music, but his movements were more purposeful and every step drew him nearer to her. She leapt further down the hall, her hair rippling out behind as she lightly jumped round in circles, whirling her way down on her toes. Everywhere she went, Aragorn followed, chasing her hopelessly as she dodged his grasp, hopping under his arms as he came close, and then she was off again, her cloak fluttering as she ran, her quick feet barely touching the wooden platform as she danced.

She stayed up that end now, doing small steps as she drew in the power of the dance, and steadily bringing it quicker. Her eyes flickered up to see Aragorn coming nearer, echoing her feet as he desperately tried to hold her attention. But she just turned away, arching her back as she held her arms out, leaping round in wavy circles, the flowers in her hair shimmering as they caught the lantern light. Arwen suddenly felt Aragorn's watchful presence behind her and she did him a little pirouette before she pranced around him.

Arwen now looked up and saw him opposite her. This was where things got quicker, and trickier. He held her gaze still for a second, and then they moved. _Forward, two, three, four, left skip, left, left, jump…_ They mirrored each other perfectly, their bare feet like a reflection in water. Arwen felt her eyes bound to his, his caring, loving, and if she dared to say so, very handsome face.

And she did dare to… as they jumped in towards each other, she licked her lips bright pink, teasing Aragorn greatly, and then she just frolicked back. He sighed madly as he refocused his roving eyes on her, and made Arwen feel slinkier. She tossed her hair behind, still drawing in his stare, and pulled him closer to her. Then she quickly ran a few steps backwards, being currently pursued heatedly by Aragorn. As one of the flutes played a long note she twirled elegantly, turning fast as she was encircled by her lover. When the note wavered Arwen fell and danced out of Aragorn's circle, her turn to skip around him.

She found herself looking very intently at Aragorn whilst he did a short dance, enclosed by her. He broke away and his eyes ran down her body, not only making Arwen feel extremely sexually attractive but also she saw him almost set on fire as he finished eyeing her up. He looked so cute when he did that, it was near unbearable for herself. She whirled around him until she was straight ahead of his gaze, which was now actually sizzling the air between them. As the flutes rippled down a scale rapidly she let one of her delicate hands slip down over her body. She danced there in front of him, he following her fingertips over her cloaked figure, with his eyes almost stinging from the keenness there.

Suddenly she felt urgency in his glance and she quickly looked up and saw a faint tinge of fear in his eyes. She ran to his side, her eyes wandering away as she passed him by. He whispered to her as she spun past, still in time to the music which played like a waterfall.

"Don't succumb…" He broke off as they parted, each dodging away from the other's feet for a count of eight beats, and then they shot up close again.

"…to the will-of-the-dance," he murmured to her rapidly as he frisked by. Arwen saw immediately the danger which could happen if she was not careful. She had just placed her hand over her stomach, pressing in the cloak, and, if she did it again, well…!

But she could not help being so happy. The dance slipped discreetly into the third part – their one. She whirled around Aragorn faster, spinning under his outstretched arms, and then sliding away around his body …her heart skipped another beat… he leant forward to touch her but she jumped left, he crept towards her again but she too moved just out of his desperate reach. Smiling, she turned to watch him. He had the same yearning of love in his eyes which she had too. Clearly he was trying to shake it off for the moment, and let it return later, preferably when they were cosily tucked up in bed… but Arwen just couldn't.

She skipped slightly nearer and also so did her eyes. In a very seducing manner she met Aragorn's and she breathed out heavily when they connected. It was almost as if they were touching. She watched him cravingly as he circled her body and approached her cunningly from behind. Arwen turned slyly and flashed him a delicious smile. He drew closer but she stepped back. He ran forward, but she pranced over to the right. Aragorn followed her, but she constantly moved away, her eyes flickering over him far too obviously.

He moaned frantically as he lost her again, and she turned to face him, her face down but her eyes drawing up… up to his beautiful face and his stunning chest, on full show seeing as a lot of his buttons had undone themselves in his body's quick movements. She saw his humid sweat, trickling down the side of his face. She wanted to rub herself against his damp body, wrap tightly around him, feel his hot moist skin touching hers…

They sprang inwards, dancing together as mere echoes of the other. Their gaze as one twirled them round, skipping faster and faster, nearer and nearer. Arwen felt his warm breath, the wonderful scent of his body. She wanted him now, now! Her lips parted as she breathed shakily, her whole soul under the threat of suddenly leaping forcefully on top of his. Their toes traced a single circle together, barely sweeping against the smooth floor. They came closer, but still not touching; always dancing faster, always inducing the other's love. Their connection was searing - she _had_ to touch Aragorn. His body's motion was mesmerising, so tempting, and so mouth-watering to think about what was underneath his thin and very pointless clothes.

Arwen let the dance take her, let it swing her off her feet as she spun around in light-headedness. Aragorn's eyes were so deep, so heavenly; she was being pulled inwards, into those brilliant eyes, coming to his soul… and his love. Ever closer now, always passing over his feet, landing where the ground was still warm from his own. He was so special, so full of the passion which she was overflowing with… She needed Aragorn in the way the dance could not give. Her love was here, and it was ready for his… It was time for him to take it, to take her heart, and everything she had ever had…

She suddenly fell down into Aragorn's arms and felt her heart leap high with joy, higher than she could ever dance. And as the music finally eased away, she gazed up lovingly into Aragorn's beautiful eyes. The gentle power of his love was so overpowering and she just wanted him to be _closer_ to her… closer to _her_… closer to her _lips_…

Suddenly Arwen felt a very curious sensation over her tummy and she looked down in surprise. Then she saw that somehow her cloak had undone itself and fallen off her plump, rounded stomach. The shock in the massive intake of breath of the hundreds of people in the hall at knowing she was pregnant was nothing compared to hers. She couldn't do anything except blink in surprise, her exposure under the scorching focus of so many people. Her mind was blank, a great emptiness, and she just had no idea what to do, or what to even think.

Flickering her eyes back up to Aragorn's shocked face, she found him watching her with deep concern in his grey eyes. She wanted to tell him she was okay, that she wasn't afraid, or even just smile at him, but she could do nothing. Her body had ceased up and she couldn't move.

So Aragorn slowly stood her up as she desperately clung onto his sweaty hand, and with the other he pulled her cloak neatly over her shoulders. But Arwen still realised he left her rounded figure showing. He smiled gently at her, and then he turned his head to watch the people in the hall. Not one person was not staring at his wife, every single one had their face turned her way. Arwen too followed his gaze, but the sight just made her tremble. She spotted Legolas leaning against a pillar, with a smirk creeping up his face, as if he was holding back his laughter. Even beside him Gimli's moustache was twitching into a smile. Arwen tore her eyes back, which were filling with some unbidden boiling tears.

Aragorn felt her heated glance on his face and turned back to meet her eyes. He softened when he saw her and smiled again, his other hand falling down to touch her sensitive waist.

"Don't cry, meleth," he pleaded quietly, barely audibly even to Arwen's ears. She blinked painfully, trying not to let her emotions take over. Her gaze was locked tenderly with Aragorn's; and then she suddenly sensed his love for her pouring out of his eyes, wrapping her up like a soft blanket and holding her carefully to him. She felt herself smile and relax, and immediately he drew nearer to her… with everybody else in the room forgotten.

Applause began to break out through the hall, and then it was loud clapping, and very soon it was cheers and shouts of joy calling out to them. The sound echoed all around, constantly getting louder and happier. Arwen smiled even more as she saw her Estel's happy face ever closer. His eyes were fixed on hers and she could feel his desire pulling her closer to him. Now she could see every one of his eyelashes, every tiny tanned speck on his cheeks, and the sparkles in his dark eyes which made her sigh fervently…

Arwen closed her own eyes as her lips touched his. Immediately she felt him hold her nearer to his body, and the applause got louder and even more elated. She brought herself even further into his full kiss and threw her arms over his hard back, her hands brushing against each other loosely. All Arwen wanted right now was Aragorn, and now he was holding her as if he never wanted to let her go. She felt so reassured by his gesture of deep affection in front of … how many people? His hand was now delicately resting on her bump, caressing her pregnant body for everyone else to see. Arwen didn't care. She just wanted him closer. And as the crowds around them screamed out at ultimate volume and giggly enjoyment, Arwen just pressed her scorching lips more to his, a full kiss now with her utterly _gorgeous_ Estel, openly before the all townspeople. It was all she needed, his hot love inside her, and now absolutely everyone could see it completely for themselves.


	10. Deep Love Inside

10. Deep Love Inside

"Estel, give me another one!"

Aragorn laughed and Arwen turned to fix her sapphire eyes on him, one hand in their lunch basket, and the other wiping his hair out of his hot but grinning face. "Please…" She pouted her pink lips and immediately his resistance weakened and he glanced away, determinedly trying not to be persuaded.

"Meleth, you've already had two."

Despite that fact Arwen saw him take a cool jar out and cup it in his hands. He stared at its top furiously. "You shouldn't have more." There was a short silence around them with a background of the tweeting of birds flying over the azure lagoon.

"Estel…" her soft voice immediately changed Aragorn and his grey eyes flickered up to hers. Arwen smiled, partly because she wanted to reassure him, but also because she thought it was so cute he found most things about her dangerously seductive. "Please…" She drew in his gaze and he followed hungrily. "I have to."

Aragorn frowned. "It is only yoghurt, Arwen. Okay, it costs a lot, but still… are you all right?" He observed her as if she might have some kind of illness.

Arwen giggled at the concern in his eyes and turned the teaspoon over in her fingers. "Estel, it's just a craving. I happen to have one right now… because I'm pregnant." She rested her free hand on her large stomach and Aragorn sighed, seeing he had lost. As Arwen leant forward to reach the white jar in his outstretched hand she grinned and saw the sparkle of mischief lingering in his eyes.

"It _is_ true," she exclaimed, and Aragorn fell backwards, helpless with amusement. Arwen quickly unscrewed the lid of the small jar and instantaneously plunged the spoon in, letting the sweet smell waft up around her. Then hurriedly she took a mouthful, the wonderful flavour subtly overpowering her taste-buds, and then it slid softly down her yearning throat. And by that time, she already had another heaped spoonful to her lips.

"Hey!" Aragorn called, watching her carefully, "You don't need to be afraid I'll take it back from you!"

But Arwen just smiled and swallowed down the thick liquid. It seemed to her that as soon as she had some in her mouth, something was urging her to swallow it, and then she _had_ to have more on her tongue again. By the time her jar was scooped, scraped and wiped empty, Aragorn had only taken two mouthfuls of shortbread, and he was still crunching the second. Without second thought immediately as she finished, Arwen put the jar on the picnic cloth and let go of her slippery spoon. Her eyes swung up to fix on Aragorn.

"I have another craving, Estel," she whispered, letting her cool voice wash up, over, around and through him. A gulp travelled down his throat.

"It had better not be peanuts, meleth. Peanuts are really expensive and hard to get."

She replied calmly, "This is worth so much, but it is very easy for me to get…" She gave him a meaningful look. "Don't tell _anyone_, Estel." Her eyes fell down to her bump and she flattened her dress over it.

"Come here," she whispered suddenly. Arwen's heartbeat increased as she heard him crawl over. "_Closer…"_ she ushered, and she only looked up once she had felt him brush against her knee.

"Estel…" she breathed, her eyes trying to take in all the beautiful aspects of his face at once. She glanced a little longer at his mouth than anything else. Then silently she placed a hand on his bare chest below his neck, and sensed Aragorn's stare grow more concentrated. He gently tucked a wave of her dark hair behind her left ear, and Arwen shivered, even though it was a golden-hot September's day. As he smiled at her lovingly she found herself moving closer to him, unstoppable. His eyes met with hers.

"What is it meleth?" he quietly asked her. Arwen took a shaky breath, once more her eyes skipping over the desirable dips and curves of his face. And as she saw his lips she simply whispered "You."

Arwen delicately closed her eyes, and moved forward slowly. Her lips lightly touched with his and then she pressed them harder, Aragorn not giving any resistance to her whatsoever. She kissed him softly and tenderly, letting their warmth mingle together and showing him her affection.

When she ran out of breath she smoothly took her lips away and quickly began to breathe again, her chest heaving heavily but without a sound. She saw Aragorn open his eyes slowly, and then Arwen leant against his chest as if just one kiss had taken all her energy. Two arms folded round her back and she really felt that this was her home – lying here in Aragorn's arms.

After she finally broke away and sat up, Arwen found that Aragorn had been discreetly plaiting her hair when she had cuddled up to him. She smiled briefly and he caught her glance, holding it, which spoke more than words could ever mean. He pierced her so easily with his love and reassurance that a few seconds passed and then Arwen could not bear it any more, and let a sigh escape her lips as she turned away.

After a moment Aragorn shifted back to where he had been and she too turned her thoughts away after their little romantic kiss. There was something that had been niggling at the back of her mind for some time now, and Aragorn deserved to hear it. She couldn't bear to keep it hidden inside the even the tiniest bit longer, a horrible sick feeling creeping throughout her. And Aragorn was being so sweet – he always was; he ought to know what she was thinking, even if it was a little daft.

In frustration she picked up a cake and began chewing it viciously with her teeth. It was just so difficult – all of it. How to start it, as one. For another, what if he thought she just being silly. She probably was. But the so many 'ifs' and 'thens' were irritating her conscience and she really did not like it. It was so unfair.

Arwen suddenly realised she had no more cake in her hands. She had eaten it all and she didn't even know what it had been, tastelessly passing through her mouth. There was no trace left now, and she supposed she would never know, even though normally she definitely would. Just like if she didn't tell Aragorn. She always did. How hurt he would be if he found out she had not told him. She prayed to Valar that he couldn't sense something was wrong.

"Why are you upset, Arwen?" he asked her suddenly, but ever so softly. "I haven't done anything wrong, have I?"

Arwen cringed, grabbing the empty jar and spoon and scraping it just for something to do. She wished he did not always blame himself – it hurt so bad; and it was all her fault. And she was being ridiculous about thinking this.

"No, of course not. You're perfect. It's just…" she sighed "Estel, it was not even two years since our wedding and-" she took a heavy breath, everything she saw swimming in and out of focus. "and, and… … you got me pregnant." Arwen blushed and stared down at the white jar. She did not want Aragorn to meet her eyes.

"Oh, I like that!" he laughed. "Suddenly it is all me. _I_ got you pregnant." Arwen heard him chuckling to himself.

"I am glad it was _you_ who did, Estel," she answered back, and he fell silent. Arwen sighed. "That was not the important bit."

This was getting harder by the second. "Most- most girls don't get … pregnant, till after about four years."

"Unless there is a king who is mad for an heir; then it's less than one," Aragorn joked. He clearly didn't like her being upset.

"Estel, won't people notice? Won't they think it's… not right that it is so early?"

"Arwen."

She fiddled with the spoon pointlessly, wishing she wasn't here.

"Arwen, you are pregnant because of our love. I love you so much, and you know that." He moved up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, resting his hands together on her belly. Arwen looked at them, but still fingered the spoon ceaselessly.

"Arwen, everyone knows. Everyone knows that our love is… _special_." He drew her hair off her neck and advanced onto her bare skin, his hot breath running down and scorching the white surface. A little gasp escaped from her and she leant back into his arms, her body now not tense but quite the opposite. She closed eyes and all she thought about were the gentle kisses he was planting down her neck and onto her chest, his breath tickling her sensitively.

"Arwen; look at me." She moaned in a negative reply, shifting closer to his mouth and desiring him to continue. She refused, but when he ran a finger over her cheek, her eyes snapped opened immediately. He turned her head slowly and easily found her eyes. He gazed at her with such passion that tears began to blur her vision and yet a smile played on her lips. Aragorn rubbed a thumb over each of her eyelids in turn and down her blocked nose.

"Don't worry, meleth nín. Nobody will know how often we make love, but they do know how much… I love you." He whispered the last phrase breathlessly and Arwen smiled, having been touched.

"I love you too, Estel. You can always show me what's right…" She stroked his jawbone, feeling the warmth of his cheek cushion her fingers. "But I really _do_ love you." She glanced up and his broad smile reached to his eyes. He carefully smoothed her hair off her forehead and then pressed his lips there, making Arwen giggle from the sensation. She pulled away and Aragorn edged back in order to place a juicy red strawberry in his mouth.

Arwen immediately dropped her spoon and simultaneously knocked over the jar. In an almost clumsy way she leant over to reach the basket, her round tummy pressing against the ground as her fingers searched for another jar of yoghurt. Aragorn laughed as she sat quickly backwards with an already opened jar clasped in her hands, and Arwen noticed that he had not gone as far back as to where he had been sitting previously. Her heart gave a small burst of joy and she wondered if he had some devious little plan to put into play before he had to leave for the afternoon.

"Arwen, you really will get fat!" Aragorn said, a huge grin on his face. Arwen glanced up with a naughty glint in her eyes, before eating another spoonful.

"I am already fat, Aragorn." She could tell the effect her voice was having on him. "And I don't care about afterwards," she added. "Elves don't get fat and anyway I'm absolutely starving." Even though she had eaten plenty enough. Aragorn laughed again and before he knew it she had demolished the yoghurt so fast that even _she_ could not believe it.

But just before Arwen could look for another one Aragorn's voice spoke out, with a tone of sadness in it.

"I have something I think you should know, Undómiel." She turned and saw that he was watching her with grief written all over his face. "It is to do with the strange channel of water in the east." Arwen swallowed to try to get rid of this unnerving feeling which had suddenly arisen.

Aragorn sighed. "I was in court yesterday-"

"Why didn't you tell me last night?" Arwen interrupted. Aragorn glanced at her in surprise.

"Well, I'm sorry," he said finally. "I was so tired last night." He still looked at her strangely and suddenly Arwen felt bad.

"I am so sorry Aragorn, I didn't mean-"

"Don't worry." He smiled at her kindly but she still believed that she had been unfair.

"Estel, I-" She made to move over to him, but Aragorn put out a hand to stop her. "Shh…"

Arwen still tried to crawl towards him but somehow Aragorn's hand missed her arm and instead it fell on her large tummy. Suddenly he went all shy and drew away, making Arwen smile inside. "Sorry," he whispered. Arwen shook her head. "No, _I _am sorry, Estel." She watched his cheeks redden and he exhaled noisily. "So…"

He continued from where they had left off. "Okay, we were having a short break in the afternoon, when I heard two of Faramir's messenger's talking together. I- I couldn't help overhearing them – it was something strange I hadn't known before. They were pleased to tell me, but I just wish it wasn't such… I suppose you could call it _bad_ news."

Aragorn had a short rest and spared a glance at Arwen. She felt rather scared and yet she didn't know why. She rubbed her sore throat and tried not to look at him. Aragorn took a breath and then went straight to the point.

"Arwen, someone has gone missing."

In alarm she turned and forlornly met his eyes. "Who?" she asked hoarsely, "When? Where?"

Aragorn sighed and sadly turned away. "Almost two weeks ago, in one of our camps on the shore of the large river. He vanished completely. At dawn Faramir found that he had gone." Arwen was suddenly aware of her strong heart beat. "It was Beregond, Arwen."

She felt her face go deadly pale. "But, surely he told someone before he left? His wife, or hisson Bergil? Or even a friend there in the camp?" Aragorn shook his head.

"Meleth, absolutely nobody knows why. He disappeared in the night and in the morning Faramir himself searched the land all around. There is no trace."

Arwen turned away and looked down, her ebony hair falling forward to hide her face, as if these thoughts were too heavy for her to bear. He was so loyal, he could only have been kidnapped, and by whoever it was who had great stealth and cunning, or was just very light and careful naturally.

But the idea of being taken hostage like that began to frighten her more and more. She wondered whether he was alive and suddenly tears stung her eyes. Beregond had been a really nice man; she had met him quite a few times when the Gondorian army had come back to its city. How could anyone do this to someone as pleasant as him? And was nowhere safe now in the realm of Gondor from these people more silent than shadows? She had thought it to be such a blissful place.

Silently a trickle ran down her face and Arwen did not even have the strength enough to wipe it away. But there was something else, something which haunted her more than anything else in the whole world. If someone wanted their way, and wanted Aragorn to do something about it, somebody else would be taken to blackmail him. After Aragorn and Faramir, Beregond was highest and had already been targeted and stolen. They would not bother with Éowyn – she wasn't even close to the King or important enough to be taken.

But _she_ was. She, Arwen Undómiel wife of the King, she would be taken away. She would be next.

"Arwen?" Aragorn's soft voice called her. She didn't move. "Are you okay?"

Suddenly she could hold it all in no longer and she broke down, bursting into hundreds of hot tears streaming down over her damp cheeks. She was trembling, shivering and shaking unstoppably, and her breathing was all mixed up and jumpy, her eyelids pressed close but with leaks squirming out the corners and pouring down into her open hands lying limply in her lap. Aragorn cried out and ran over, falling to the ground behind her and pulling her gently into his warm hold. It just made her cry even more, to think that she might loose him forever, or more that he would loose her.

Aragorn took her damp hair off her sticky face, and she moaned and feebly tried to pull away. But he laid her back against his chest and tried to soothe his Queen until she was calm again. Her tears kept falling and her sobs were so deep and heartfelt that he just ended up slowly rocking her in his arms like a little baby, whispering in her ear and pleading for her to stop.

Arwen knew she was tearing his soul when he was seeing her like this, but it was so hard for her to stop, so hard for her to forget. Only eventually did Aragorn make her quiet and breathing regularly again by lovingly rubbing her round tummy, at last able to find a way to reach out and dry her tears. She felt so exhausted now, she could only close her eyes and concentrate on the hypnotising motion of his tender hands on her belly.

After a while Arwen turned her head to look up at his face, feeling him lift his chin off her head. She was surprised to find that his eyes were thickly clouded and shiny.

"Why are there tears in your eyes, Estel?" she asked him softly. He smiled and nuzzled his lips against her cheek but Arwen could feel his concern in the way he moved about her.

"It was horrible for me to see you like that, Arwen," he whispered, his warm breath suddenly very comforting to her. She moved a little with the motion of his hands, showing her profound pleasure in it. Aragorn took her lustful hint and massaged her sensitive bump with more feeling. With the release she sighed and sensed all her fear flow away, closing her eyes and letting their special peace take over her.

"You're safe in Minas Tirith," Aragorn murmured, stirring her thoughts. She had an inkling he was saying 'you' collectively, for everyone, but she couldn't help think of herself too; and he was right, she was safe in the city. And she _was_ with him.

"Arwen, I would do anything for you," he whispered, his serious voice moving her forcefully. She stared at her bump and replied "I would do anything for you too Estel." Smiling she snuggled further into his close embrace and felt his fingers rub her swollen tummy with even more love in his action.

It rather made her jump when he gave her an unexpected reply. "You have already given me everything," he breathed, a flirtatious mood shimmering through his voice. Arwen gasped in shock and his intense words brought his passionate touches on her body to sensational life. His love seemed to be pouring into her body from everywhere he held her, filling her with his desire for her and bringing on her own, sending tingling butterflies to her stomach. She wanted to show him what she could do, give him even more than what she had already given. Now her soul was burning and her body was aching she could not hold back. How she wanted to give him such a deep kiss to illustrate beautifully her innermost feelings.

But as she licked her mouth she realised it was very dry and calling out for fresh water. She had probably cried bucketfuls of tears. Quietly she said to Aragorn, her voice positively quivering with emotion, "Estel; please may I have some water?"

She felt his smile against her face, but as if that wasn't enough in answer, he gave her a very meaningful kiss on her cheek which could have sent off sparks. It was so powerful that amid her sudden blush Arwen was sure there were going to be marks left there for the rest of her life. Aragorn took one hand away to reach for the large terracotta jug that was keeping cold in the shade.

Unfortunately, although Aragorn did not really seem to think so, he couldn't quite grasp it and so he had to lean to the side to get a grip on the handle. Arwen would have been tipped off if he hadn't held her on his lap with his hand pressing firmly on her warm tummy. She felt herself redden even more from it and was very near to going all giggly like she usually would.

The sound of the water clamouring to be the first to rush into her glass was music to her ears and she watched the clear liquid with more thirsty desire than she had ever known. Well, for water anyway. Once Aragorn finished he put the jug carefully down and then picked up her glass, soon resting it gently on her large stomach. Immediately it tickled and with a seductive smile she took it from his hand, her fingers closing the wonderfully icy glass.

She crawled slowly off his lap, with the help of Aragorn shifting backwards, so that she could kneel and watch him while she drank. As she raised her glass she found his hungry stare seeping through her eyes and into her own heart. Keeping eye-contact she pressed the brim to her lips and tipped the glistening end up, the sought-after water dribbling down and running into her mouth. The release was incredible, the power of the freezing liquid flowing over her tongue and washing through her body. But there may also have been something in Aragorn's glance which made her breathe with joy.

She took the glass away from her lips and actually saw the process of Aragorn melting before her. His eyes softened and his lips parted.

"Don't do this to me," he whimpered, and for a second Arwen thought of her tears of fright just earlier. But then she noticed that now Aragorn was not looking at her eyes. He was looking at her lips. Her full, succulent lips which she knew immediately had been chilled by the cool water, and were probably now a pale pink-purple tone.

She slowly drank a few more mouthfuls letting the cold liquid merge into her lips, whilst a tiny drop escaped and pooled on their soft surface. Then she lowered the glass and held it by her waist, meeting Aragorn's eyes in a seducing manner. She gently pushed out her iced-up lips, making them look far more generous than any pout could, and she could feel they were screaming to him to be kissed. She parted them slightly and lowered her head a little, still holding their gaze strong and always more intense. Her elven power could keep it for longer than he could bear; but only just.

"_Meleth,_ I think I might have to…" Aragorn trailed off and never finished his sentence. He leant forward and delicately tipped her chin up. Immediately Arwen fell to his touch. His absolutely stunningly gorgeous face was now only a few centimetres away from her, his soft grey eyes dancing with hers. Then Arwen slowly felt her eyelids close as if lulled to sleep by his charm and her jaw dropped open. Aragorn's hot lips pressed against her own icy ones, warming them appealingly. As his tongue slid inside her mouth her heart jumped up from the elated ecstatic feeling.

She let him do whatever he desired to her, massaging her tenderly and arousingly, so precious and wonderful it overpowered her easily, confusing even her strong elven senses. He drew her on with the utmost longing, caressing her tongue as she lay to his will, his soothing loving cleansing even her soul. And as he tried to draw away she pulled him closer, keeping his mouth locked with hers, her sweetness and innocence stolen, just as the traces of yoghurt were from her lips, all in his subtle but sweeping passion.

At last when he broke away Arwen stayed transfixed as he had left her, only her eyes opening to show her desperate yearning deeper than the far bed of the great sea. Her mind was spinning as she watched him lean back tiredly on his arms, sweating from the height of his adoration for her. Arwen breathed out and glanced away, finally realising her chest was inflating and deflating very quickly.

She gradually drank the rest of the water, her also sweaty hand around a much warmer glass. Even the pure water could not wash away the delightful taste of Aragorn in her mouth, still tingling her lips, still searching her mouth, still stroking her tongue… she dropped her glass and closed her eyes as she relived the vivid sensation of his overwhelming kiss.

When she opened them again Arwen saw Aragorn lie down slowly at arms reach from the rug, his grey eyes squinting in the midday sun. A soft smile was playing on his flushed lips, and she laughed under her breath and crawled over to him before climbing astride his waist. She straddled him with her legs on either side and rested her round stomach pointedly on his chest. It was clearly _not_ what Aragorn had expected. He blinked and fixed his eyes up at her face.

"You're heavy," he murmured, shifting himself a little under her weight. Arwen could not help but smile. She settled herself more comfortably and smoothed down her dress over her bump.

"Of _course_ I am, Estel," she whispered back, whilst playfully toying with his brown locks of hair. "And before you say it, I am also fat." She focused sharply on his eyes, but Aragorn grinned, showing his teeth, clearly trying not to laugh. Arwen relaxed, desperately hiding her sudden passionate burst inside for him. Shaking slightly, she ran a finger down the side of his cheek.

"_Arwen_…!" he hissed, urging her to stop. When she did he looked up into her eyes. Her heart gave another jump. "But you are still beautiful." A rush of pride surged through her body and she edged a tiny bit nearer.

"How?" she stuttered, the only word that she could let out of her lips with the knowledge it would come out right. Aragorn grinned again, reaching up a hand which Arwen immediately clasped in hers. His glance side-tracked to their interlocked fingers and a puzzled expression passed over his face. But it was gone so fast Arwen wondered if it had actually been there. She flicked her eyes in a triangle down his face and then forced them back up.

Aragorn took a breath. "You are _more_ beautiful, Arwen nín," he said, and she felt herself look at him strangely. In answer he replied to her, but very quietly, "because there is _more of you_."

Arwen chewed her lip, trying not to smile. She saw the waves of affection rippling in his eyes and she felt her own return his call. She broke her hand away and stroked his silky hair again on the grass. When she turned her gaze back to his face, she saw that his centre of attention had dropped down below her eyes. It wasn't even pinpointed on her lips. In fact she knew very obviously he was staring at her cleavage.

Immediately Arwen blushed and glanced away, her cheeks burning on fire. She couldn't help it when he did that. Usually he turned away after a few seconds and then he was the one to go all shy and coy. She guessed Aragorn had meant more when he said "more" than had first met her eye. Arwen looked back at his eyes, but still they were fixed on her breasts. She smiled seductively as she felt her body become very self-conscious, but Aragorn did not see again.

Now Arwen felt like laughing but she decided not to disturb his… pleasure. So she just sighed heavily, her chest rising and falling in a very implying way. Aragorn's lips parted in sheer adoration and he swallowed as his gaze grew even more intent. Arwen sensed her body reacting even before she asked it to: she puffed out her chest coming closer to his eyes, and leant forward a little more. Aragorn gasped in disbelief and the pupils of his eyes dilated in and out. Arwen then instinctively licked her lips to make them more obvious to him.

"Estel, you never have to hold back with me," she spoke softly. Aragorn's eyes fled to her face, full of fear and clearly ashamed that Arwen had seen him doing what he had been doing.

"Shhh…" she whispered smiling at him reassuringly, and carefully she took his hand and brought it upwards. Then, as she closed her eyes, she pressed his fingers on her especially plump cleavage and felt his warm fingertips touch her gently. This sent Arwen's heart racing again, her being tender and rather sensitive there. And when she let go of his hand, he still held it to that spot. Gradually she felt him press more firmly, and lusting more of his love she fell forward again, and his touch deepened. Arwen sighed shakily and opened her eyes, immediately falling into his. He tipped his head to the side and smiled a dazzling smile at Arwen which almost made her choke from the sudden intimacy. And now she found she couldn't tear her eyes away from his gorgeous face.

Then she felt Aragorn's touch on her cleavage relax, and before she had time to work out why he was slipping his fingers over her dress and running them down her body. She ached from wanting to shiver but she was frozen under his spell; and so she just let him trickle his fingertips down her chest in that extremely close way which made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. He gently stroked her bloated stomach and Arwen saw his gaze watch her affectionately.

It was suddenly difficult to remember to breathe when he was giving her such a ticklish sensation. As he traced wavy paths all over her tummy she knew he was stirring her emotions, pulling her love towards him. He held her eyes so strongly that suddenly she could not bear it any longer and she broke their eye contact and looked downwards. Breathing heavily she watched as Aragorn drew circles with his fingertip, a large one right round her belly and then he swooped in to make a tiny one around her bellybutton. Arwen could feel his soul calling to hers through his touch even before his soft voice called her name.

Trembling she moved from her big stomach to his eyes. They literally took her breath away, let alone her heart. Ever so slowly she felt herself being pulled in, rolling forward on her round belly, love pouring from her into his twinkling eyes. As she passed his rough chin her eyelids brushed close and her lips swept over his.

She sank into heaven, his gentle lips closing in around hers and tempting her even further, drawing her in more, enveloping her softly, pulling her faster to his heat, overpowering her completely and tenderly touching her soul… He still caressed her large stomach where she was not pressed to him, so sweet and so loving… what more could she ask for than for him to reach out to the flower of their very love? … what more could she feel than her pure love for him, held in his caring arms and wrapped in his beautiful passion…

Suddenly Arwen felt something move inside her, something which made her fiercely pumping heart almost stop altogether. She gasped into Aragorn's seductive mouth, for a moment filled with shock and surprise. It was so unnerving that it confused her, and when she focused inside of herself nothing leapt up apart from her fervent heart. There was nothing, nothing at all.

Aragorn sensed her change and he slowly parted his lips from hers. Arwen opened her eyes and found his pools of concern watching her carefully and full of love. She sighed from the obsession to have him that close again; but she was wondering, wondering, wondering whether possibly, maybe…

She sat up gradually again, Aragorn's hand falling from her belly. Her blue eyes flickered from there back up to his face. He was already melting her by his beautiful look calling out to her.

"Estel_…_" she whispered, her hands searching for his. He gazed at her questioningly. "_Don't stop…"_ she breathed, placing his fingers lightly on her round stomach again. She saw his eyes fall down to where it rested on his chest, and then he slowly began to trace his fingertips over her again. Arwen shivered and then she sensed his eyes open irresistibly up to her. Falling forward, he caught her on his hot lips and all she felt was Aragorn, him and their fiery passion.

She loved him so much, every single thing – the scent of his silky hair as her fingers ran arduously through it, the warmth of his strong muscled body which would always protect her, the caring touches which his fingertips pressed all over her body's alluring curves, the soft tender sensation of his lips pressed to hers and his kiss jumping deep inside her, far into her soul where their love was pure and everlasting and her heart was bursting full of passion for him… _Aragorn… ESTEL…_

And there it was again.

Wrapped up so deeply in their love-locked dream together, Arwen managed to continue succumbing to Aragorn's kissing with great ease. But inside her, she had felt something, something small and precious, and it had leapt in her tummy…

"_Estel_…" she panted. As he claimed her lips as his own for the uncountable time Arwen's heart gave another impel of love and she sensed the movement inside her once more. Still giving every single ounce of her brilliant emotions to Aragorn she reached for his hand on her round stomach. His fingers were giving her incredible sensations and the more Arwen fell in love with Aragorn, the more love he was able to give as his kiss enveloped far more than her mouth and lips.

But Aragorn still continued to run his fingers over her tummy, and as the gesture became more intense, the elation shone inside and Arwen felt something jump within. So overwhelmed by this and Aragorn, she discovered his fingertips, and with one final, unbelievably avid kiss, where she searched and massaged his mouth and licked his lips, she ever so gently broke away. From this last kiss of love the movement inside her did not stop, but leapt again and again, faster and faster, more and more rapidly and ecstatically.

Gasping for breath and her blue crystalline eyes dancing with excitement, Arwen gazed into Aragorn's misty grey eyes and felt her soul slide inside to his heart and his soul and his love so naturally and as she was so accustomed to doing. Fumbling and trembling madly, she squeezed his fingers and gradually brought them over her bloated tummy, taking them round to where she felt the ceaseless movement inside, something she would never ever let escape her memory.

Then Arwen pressed his fingers firmly to her skin, and inhaled profoundly as she showed Aragorn the tiny leaping underneath. She watched him as he looked down inquisitively to where together they touched her round belly, and then as they felt the movement inside her his eyes widened and they fled to hers.

"_Arwen…!_ Surely… no!"

She shivered as it shifted continuously within her. "Yes, Aragorn!" she whispered breathlessly. Irresistibly she leant in closer and his hand cupped tenderly round hers and the special place on her tummy.

"_Estel, it's our baby!"_

A radiant smile lit up Arwen's face and shimmering tears of delight filled her eyes. As the knowledge of what Aragorn was sensing underneath Arwen's skin sank into him, he gazed at her fair face. And then the look he gave her was one so sweet, so adoring, his eyes melting from the pure sight of her and his heart rushing to her with the one wish to give her the love of his soul.

Then quick as lightning he brought her down into one fierce kiss, his passion for Arwen exploding through her body. His love shot along her veins, through her blood, and she felt on fire. His kiss blew her mind, it blasted right to her fingertips where they met with Aragorn's, and she had never felt so bonded with him before. And she had never loved it so much.

Yet the unbelievable love she was filled with was not just Aragorn's love for her.

It was her never-ending love for Aragorn, and it was he who had caused her all this brilliant happiness which blossomed right inside her.


	11. Whispers in the Wind

Hello everyone!!! I am so sorry this has taken such a long time to write... I'm guessing you thought I'd given up! Well, I never did, I was just otherwise occupied, but I am continuing :) there will be a lot more fluff, but also here the darker plot takes over, so there will also be a lot of drama ;) I am wicked!! I hope you enjoy, and I will be updating again soon... xxxxxx

11. Whispers in the Wind

"Estel, you wouldn't dare…"

Arwen's dangerous voice hovered in the warm autumn air. Cool laughter echoed from the depths of the trees, laced with the rustle of leaves. There, pinned to the huge wrinkled trunk of the ancient willow tree, was Arwen, entwined in the arms of her captor.

The latter smiled softly. "I wouldn't be so sure, my _love_…" he whispered longingly, staring straight at his captive's turquoise eyes. The blue-grey branches fell down around them like an elusive shell of rain, isolating them from the world, only leaving tiny whispers moving in the air. Leaves and flowers had caught in Arwen's long hair and poked out shyly, floating in the flowing brown waves.

A slender hand caught Aragorn's, attempting to restrain him. He grinned slyly. "I see your confidence is strong," he commented, revelling in the sweet smile on Arwen's elven face. Her eyes glistened in expectation.

"And why should I be weak, my lord?" Arwen tried to push Aragorn's arms back away from her. He gave for a short while, but then resolutely held. A clever smile evolved on his lips and he leant forward towards her delicate ear.

"Because I know your weakness, Tinúviel," he whispered, his free hand working its way stealthily down Arwen's body. The overpowering sensation worked its magic like a spell, causing Arwen to tremble at the imprint of his fingers, her eyes to flutter shut, her breathe to shake in the close air.

"Please…" she begged while they seamlessly drew closer, their bodies sealing together. Aragorn's hot breath danced on her lips, teasing them apart into a sigh, his nose brushing gently over hers. Arwen's slim fingers advanced of their own accord underneath Aragorn's thin shirts, popping the buttons undone, quietly discovering with relish the toned muscle normally concealed, only threatening to undo more.

"Don't stop…" she pleaded desperately, her mind vanished, completely dissolved in Aragorn's senses. There was the irresistible calling, the deep burning desire, pulling her towards him, as if magnetised, yearning for the unbearable release. It gleamed there in his silvery eyes, rippled through his quick breaths, shone on his lips…

They fell into an overwhelming kiss as they thrust together, their love erupting into brilliant bubbles of swelling pleasure. Arwen let herself be drawn further and further into the kiss, succumbing to the shivering sensation of his strong hardness against her swollen abdomen. Pulling her powerfully into his arms completely, Aragorn brought his soft lips intimately over Arwen's, finding the way to express the utmost ecstasy he reached when he came so close to her. With their tongues moving together, the deep aroused massaging feeling rubbed their love deeper into their hearts.

After drawing away, Arwen's blue eyes slowly opened, revealing a beautiful glittering as if the bubbles of elation had popped and settled there like stars. She smiled, her magenta lips glossy, mirroring Aragorn's expression of pleasure.

"I have to go now, meleth…" he said softly. His fingers caught in Arwen's hand.

"Wait, please," she said forlornly, and then leant forward to place a tender kiss on Aragorn's lips. When she broke away, his glowing eyes could not hide the terrible indecision Aragorn was trapped in. They gazed into each other's eyes for a long moment, their hands silently stroking each others' body, until they met each other once more.

"I'm sorry," Aragorn whispered finally. He glanced down, almost in shame, but inhaled sharply, and turned away from Arwen's side.

When he drew back the willow-curtain, a triangle of bright sunlight was cast upon Arwen's body. Slowly, Aragorn's eyes returned to her.

"Namarië, Undómiel," he murmured, holding her striking gaze.

Arwen said farewell with a pining smile, a shaft of wind pricking up her hair in the breeze.

xxxxxx

The afternoon passed more slowly in Aragorn's absence. It was as if Arwen herself was trapped with him in the courts of Minas Tirith, only she was not with him, and that made the length of time harder to bear.

But she sank down among the great curved roots of the weeping-willow tree, and quietly sang to herself, staring at her fingers as they ran over each other, and played on her rounded tummy, her mind far away in the Lay of Lúthien.

All of a sudden, Arwen felt something strange prickle creep up her back and trickle down her arms. It made her glance up, and her harmonious song trailed off like a line of ants fading away. She wondered what had interfered with her keen elven senses, until she heard a sound nearby. At first she was not sure, frozen in fear, but then instantly she recognised it. It was the sound of a child crying.

Such great concern mounted inside her, it rose above Arwen like a huge tidal wave and washed her with anxiety. She stood up as steadily as she could and hurried barefoot from her hollow in the warm grass, slipping through the trailing rain of silver willow leaves. They broke away to reveal the bright blue of the shimmering pool, disturbed by the wind with crests racing across the whipped surface, and Arwen drew to the banks to look out over to the trees at the edge of the garden.

She could not see anyone. Half-wondering if she had been imagining the sobs, she searched the borders of the trees and the last of the summer's flowers tumbling around. Nobody was there. Why would a child come here anyway, she puzzled.

But something was haunting her, picking away ceaselessly at her conscience. A child was there, and she knew it. They needed _her_.

Arwen glided down the small slope to where the grass was longer, and stood in the patch flattened from the incident earlier on. She stood very still, the wind growing. It swept up her hair and tugged at her dress and moaned through the throng of beech trees surrounding the garden. More cries reached her un-deceivable hearing and fiercer urgency shot through her body. The child was close. Very close.

Then she caught sight of a trail through the bending grass. It was only just noticeable at this angle, since it wound along with much weaving and bending, but it was however making steadily for the lagoon. A tiny figure appeared and staggered slowly forwards.

A boy with golden-brown hair, who could not be more than five or six years old, was crying and straining through a window of tears as if searching for someone. At this sight Arwen was wrenched with pity. She heard him murmuring in between hiccups and a streams slipping down his flushed face. He stumbled forward a few more paces and then suddenly noticed her ahead of him.

"Papa?" The young boy rubbed his fingers tiredly over his eyes and tried to brush his tears away. Arwen saw his brown eyes focusing on her and slowly starting to take her in. She ran anxiously to him through the grass, her dress rustling around her ankles, and she knelt down as she reached him, falling down to his height on her knees. He was still crying as he watched her.

"My child…" Arwen whispered, "…What is wrong?" She gazed with concern into his large round eyes and she could see his tears melting away, but his distress still lingering. He was breathing heavily but did not reply to her question. Forlornly she reached for his small damp hand. "What is your name?" she instead asked softly.

The little boy's gaze travelled slowly over her face until he met her eyes again. He seemed to becoming calmer and was soothed by her gentle hold on his hand. A slight smile broke out and he replied to her, "Celros". Then he suddenly said, "You are an elf."

Arwen smiled as the young boy reached out to lightly touch the tips of her ears with his fingertips, staring at them as if they were magical. And then she found that his name seemed to remind her of something she could not quite put her finger on. Soon she realised. It was partly elvish. He was a mortal, but he had some of her kin in his blood. She recognised the sea-clothes that he wore and the subtleness of his vaguely pointed ears, which she had seen a few times before. "Do you come from Dol Amroth, Celros?" she questioned him.

A smile lit up the little boys face and he nodded vigorously, withdrawing his hand.

"Papa says that the Queen of Gondor is an elf and he swears by his life that he saw her once and she is the most beautiful lady on this earth." He looked intently at Arwen's faintly bemused face. "But I think he is wrong. _I_ think you are more beautiful," he said firmly.

A gentle rush of warmth filled up Arwen but she just smiled at the innocent boy standing before her. "You father was right. I am an elf, and I am Arwen, the Queen of Gondor."

Celros gave a huge gasp and his eyes widened in wonder as he stared at her twinkling eyes. She had rather a hard time not to let a soft laugh escape her lips. "But thank you for your lovely belief that I am beautiful," she added.

Immediately Celros beamed in positive delight and his face glowed with pride.

"Would you like to come with me?" Arwen asked him gently. She wondered deeply why in Arda such a young child would travel so far, from Dol Amroth to Minas Tirith, all by himself.

A broad smile in agreement lightened his face and steadily Arwen stood up. Still lovingly holding his hand she led him back to the lagoon, passing the whispers of the whistling willow tree and walking up the banks bursting full of colour and vibrancy. She set Celros down at the sparkling waters edge and then slowly sat down herself.

For a moment Celros seemed entranced by the mystical beauty of the pool and the surroundings and he eagerly followed suit as Arwen slid her feet delicately into the lapping water, although rather more noisily.

"Where is your father, Celros?" she asked. Immediately the boy's face became more serious.

"Papa told me to come here. Have you seen him?"

Arwen shook her head. "He did not come with you then?"

"No," he answered broodingly, pouting. "He put me on our horse and he told me to ride to Minas Tirith. He said not to stop until I reached the city's gates, and that I would be safe there."

Arwen frowned, a warning growing in her heart, beginning to discern something bad. A small puff of white cloud passed over the sun way above them, and a dark shadow stole across the water of the pool. The air grew cooler.

"That is true, yet why could you not stay at home?" Arwen questioned him quietly.

"Papa said," Celros stated matter-of-factly, "he was going off to find Mama."

"Your mother?!" Arwen exclaimed, earning a puzzled look from Celros. "Where was she then?"

"I don't know," he pondered steadily, with eyebrows descending off his forehead. "I was told she had gone on holiday, but that was two weeks ago and Mama never goes on holiday without us." Arwen looked away, feeling the blood in her veins curdle. She recognised the half-lie of a parent to a child.

Celros was obviously similarly undeceived. "So I don't think that Papa was coming here. He has gone to bring Mama home," he finished, half triumphantly at his intelligent guessing, but the larger half was despondent at the loss of his family. He made a huge splash in the water, and then was silent. When Arwen glanced down at him after thinking hard, she saw his eyes brimming once more.

"I miss them," he cried under his breath.

Arwen's filled with love and she pulled him into her tender arms, cuddling Celros to her body as he broke silently. She could do no more while she rocked him gently and kissed his brow, uttering promises of a happier day. He huddled to her body, desperately trying to hold back the tears, his despaired moans filling the air while he cowered away from the fresh wind. But with her sharp elven perception, Arwen knew that there was some evil which had already spread into Dol Amroth, and there was nothing she could say with complete honesty that would comfort him.


	12. Elvish Council

12. Elvish Council

It was with apprehension that Arwen beheld the citadel in the early evening. As the sun was sinking behind Mindolluin, the young white tree in the pool had turned gold, and the tall white tower bore a yellow sheen. Clouds had collected in the sky, indicating the turning point in late September when summer ended, and winter began. These fingertips stretched over the blue sky, causing the bright colour to fade, and an overall air of unease to blow coldly through Minas Tirith, tearing at the flags and whistling through the guards' helmets.

The bell tower tolled an hour before dinner and the clang echoed down the streets of the stone city and out over the flat plains of the Pelennor. Celros was altogether intrigued by such a majestic city and craned his neck around Arwen's long dress to watch the guards pacing around the pool from post to post and to peer into the shining water in the fountain pool. He held the reigns of a small chestnut horse, who trotted patiently behind him, his brown mane streaming in the gusts of the wind. Arwen walked to the solemn sound of the horse's hooves, wearing the pensive but unreadable expression of the elves.

There was a small commotion at the gates to the High Court, and while Arwen and Celros were still proceeding up the stone paving, they saw Aragorn emerge, flanked by two guards, and trailed by a flock of lords and advisors, who stuck to his heels despite their king's quick descent down the wide steps. Arwen noted the irritation in his quick movements and his attempt to escape. But on looking up, Aragorn caught sight of her, and his expression relaxed. He turned to his followers, and sent them away, indicating to his wife a wish for privacy.

"Undómë," Aragorn called out ("Evening"), when they were still a distance apart, and he started to close the gap between them. Then he noticed Arwen's companion. "Hello, young man," he said warmly.

Arwen smiled and glanced down to see Celros keenly looking up at the crowned king. "Hello, king Elessar," Celros said politely, causing a smile to break out on Aragorn's face. He took Arwen into his arms and planted a soft kiss on her lips.

"Whose company do I have the pleasure of receiving?" he asked, moving to the small boy whose eyes were glowing brightly up at him.

"I'm Celros," he said. "And this is my horse, Hazel." The horse's ears pricked up at the name, and he whinnied softly, nudging the boy in front of him.

Aragorn smiled and reached out to fondle the horse's mane, mud-stained though it was.

"Celros would like to stay with us for a while," Arwen informed her husband.

"I'm sure a room can be arranged," Aragorn replied, opening his arms to gesture his wife and guest towards the High Court. "And I will find a stable for your tired horse." He handed the reigns to the nearest guard and continued up the steps to meet the next guard. "Please, show this young man to a comfortable room, look after him well, and bring him here for dinner in no more than half an hour." The guard nodded and steered Celros down a passageway. The boy turned and waved enthusiastically before disappearing.

Aragorn now sneaked an arm round his wife's waist and leant his head closer to hers. "Where is he from, Arwen?" he asked.

She paused at the entrance to the great hall and Aragorn turned to face her. "He is from Dol Amroth. He has ridden here alone."

"Alone!" repeated Aragorn. "Surely not?..." He muttered under his breath, and took Arwen's hand to lead her on down the hall, where on either side tables were being laid out.

"His father has sent him here for safety. From what Celros said, his father has gone to search for his mother, who had disappeared." Arwen's voice was unnervingly soft.

A frown lined Aragorn's face. "She disappeared?" He exclaimed.

"Without trace." Arwen nodded. Then she spoke again. "Seem familiar?" she asked.

"Wh-?" Aragorn began. Then his body froze, his mind racing behind the flickering eyes. Arwen met them, giving him a meaningful glance. Hurriedly, Aragorn ushered her up the short stairs and into their bed chamber, shutting the door behind her.

"Are you saying this could be linked to Beregond's disappearance?" he said softly.

"It is a possibility," Arwen replied, sinking onto their bed.

"But… but I thought we were going along the rudimentary lines of those with increasing importance being kidnapped… targeting me." Gently Aragorn sat down next to her, leaning back and removing his winged crown. He turned to watch Arwen, who was gazing thoughtfully out of the west window. "Is she important? Who is she?"

"No, no, no one in particular," Arwen said. "And we were going along those lines…" she murmured, "yet- what if someone got in their way…" She trailed off, deep in thought.

"If someone prevented them from taking a captive?"

"Or preventing them from progress towards that goal… yes."

"Hmmm…" Aragorn sat back and mused. Then he turned to Arwen again, and smiled. "I am glad to have you with me. Your elven wisdom would leave me at a loss without it."

Arwen laughed. "I'm sure you would be just as good a king without my reasoning, however improbable it may appear to others."

"It is just the clear sight of the elves, and I am one of the few who recognise that wisdom," Aragorn retorted, bringing her into his embrace. "And I am not so sure I would be who I am without you and your reasoning."

"It would not be my wish for you to be without me," Arwen said, entwining fingers with Aragorn, and pressing his fingertips to her lips. "But what are we to do?"

"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked, once more feeling swamped by Arwen's thoughts.

"Should we not ask Prince Imrahil for help? He may know something about this."

"Perhaps…" Aragorn agreed. Their friendship was true, perhaps enhanced by the Prince's partially elven blood. "But this could be entirely unrelated."

"That is true," Arwen said. "And yet, Celros' father must have known something about what had happened to his wife. He must have known the danger of following her, or he would have taken Celros with him, and clearly he deemed the houses of friends in Dol Amroth unsafe."

"I see…" Aragorn paused for thought. "So how long will Celros be staying with us?"

Arwen shot Aragorn a sideways look. "I do not think his parents will be returning anytime soon. His father's decision was wise, but now, I do not think Celros will be safe here for much longer."

"What do you mean?" Aragorn said quickly, a frown lining his brow.

Arwen sighed heavily. "Estel, you know what we realised. You know I will be the next one."

Fear thumped through Aragorn's heart, drumming in his ears. It was true, but he had never thought it would materialise into reality. Indeed, they had both agreed that they thought the people being taken were being taken due to their mounting significance to him, the king of Gondor. But why? Why were they doing this to him? And to those who meant so much to him?

"I will not let you be next, Arwen," Aragorn held to his decision.

"That is no matter, now Celros is tied up with us, he is in danger of being targeted too." Arwen ignored what her husband had just said. "Celros would be safer at the castle of Dol Amroth. If we take him there, I am sure Prince Imrahil would gladly look after him safely until his parents' homecoming."

"Neither is that a matter for the moment," Aragorn replied firmly. "There is no sign that you will be taken soon."

"Maybe not right away… but soon…" as she spoke, Arwen's voice wavered. "I am afraid, Estel," she whispered, staring at her white hands lying motionless on her lap. "I am afraid for our child."

Aragorn moved closer to her and brought her into his embrace. "You have reason to be afraid, meleth nín," he murmured, stroking Arwen's silky hair down her shoulders. "But I swear I will do anything to save you… and our child."

Arwen nodded against his chest, and with a hand on each of her shoulders, Aragorn held her out in front of him to reveal tears streaming down Arwen's cheeks.

"It wasn't meant to be like this," she whispered.

"Don't cry, Tinúviel," Aragorn said softly. "You are with me, and all the while you are with me, you are safe."

Gazing into Aragorn's silver eyes, Arwen felt his muscled arms curve around her body, his strong fingers gently caressing her cheekbone, his eyes constantly reassuring her that she would be safe… and so would their child.

Ever so slowly, Aragorn tipped her chin up, and leant in to press a warm kiss to Arwen's rosy lips, and while his tongue ran tenderly over hers, his warmth rushed into her, his emotive touch reached out to her heart, pouring out his boundless love, and Arwen immediately fell to returning his heart's call, giving him all the love for which she had sacrificed her immortality. This love proved to be Arwen's greatest strength… and would later prove to be her greatest weakness.


	13. A Message of Elves

Just a note to those of you who are reading mainly for the fluff (lol it is so good isn't it:P) - sorry it's not here at the mo, but if you hang on, it will happen, I promise you! But this is just as interesting and there will be lots of drama... so don't worry about having your socks bored off while you wait for fluff - this should be just as good! I hope you enjoy it, and if you have any comments, just let me know at the end...

13. A Message of Elves

A week had already passed since Celros had joined the company of Minas Tirith. His bright and inquisitive nature had earned him many friends among the city, and he had spent many days reading ancient books in the halls of the High Court, learning about great battles and stories long ago. Of course, questions had been asked about his presence, but nothing about the true reason of the shadow spreading from the east had been betrayed.

Aragorn had been firm when the decision about the strange disappearances had been made. For the best interests of his people, he had chosen to not inform them about Beregond's vanishing, as well as Celros' mother, for it would only stir panic and cause rumours to escalate.

Now October had recently arrived, and the crops had been harvested, as well as many herbs and plants gathered for the healing houses. It was there where Aragorn was to be found, talking with the healers and teaching them the curative touches of the elves, when a young man swept in through the door, bringing with him a barrage of rain.

"Hail, King Elessar!" he exclaimed, straightening up and attempting to wipe the rainwater off his stained raiment. "I bring you tidings from Gondor's army in the east."

Aragorn looked up, the columbine leaves falling from his gentle hands. The healers surrounding him also looked amazed, for they had heard much about the water in the east. The messenger seemed loath to shut the door, so a disgruntled healer scurried to close it before many more puddles accumulated on the paved floor.

"What nature of tidings is this, friend?" Aragorn asked, moving forward.

"Of a peculiar kind, for they transmute as one learns more," the messenger told him.

"Come, speak," Aragorn ordered. He was keen to hear of some happenings in the east.

"My lord, your Steward, Faramir, has left our company," the messenger informed him. "This departure was not foreseen and likened to that of Beregond."

Around him, a chorus of agitated whispers broke out, but Aragorn had prepared himself for the worst, and ignored them for the present time.

"You said there is more to learn?" Aragorn reminded the messenger. "Is this fortune changeable?"

"Aye, my lord, if it is to be seen that way… for Faramir, seemingly taking leave out of the blue, in actuality left this strange message behind." He brought out a folded piece of parchment from underneath his travel-stained garments and offered it to the king. Aragorn took it at once and unfurled it. The healers watched as Aragorn's eyes narrowed, but he showed no sign of anger or fear, merely surprise.

"None of us can speak much elvish, my lord, and it was a shock to us all that Faramir could. But this is what he left, and he signed it too, so it is from him for sure."

Aragorn carefully refolded the note and put it in his pocket. "Where was his camp, when he left?"

"Not five leagues from the last peak of the Ash Mountains."

"Thank you, friend, for your report. Is there anything else?"

"Yes, I have a small amount of water, which Faramir himself bottled on the shore two days before he disappeared." The messenger handed over a small glass phial, which he uncovered from a piece of red cloth. "Your Lady Arwen ordered it, my lord."

"Yes…" Aragorn murmured. "She did." He pulled out the cork and lifted it to his nose. After a moment's thought he pressed it back in.

"You may go up to the High Court and find a room to rest in. I… there may be an errand awaiting you by tomorrow morning, so please, take rest while you can."

"Thank you, my lord." The messenger bowed. "You are very kind."

While the messenger took his leave, Aragorn turned back to find many confused faces, and already some of the healers had dashed out into the rain to break news to the people that Beregond and Faramir were unaccountably missing.

"Why has Faramir left, my lord? Is there some trouble in the east?" quizzed one young healer.

"What has happened? The Dark Lord could not have returned, could he?" An aged healer shook her head and crossed her heart.

"You can not kill a Maia, he was only banished to the Void," claimed another old healer. "What if he has returned, to murder us all?!"

Aragorn held up his hands as he became enclosed by protestors. "Hold on, hold on, too many questions," he said, stepping back to protect himself. "I do not think it would be my place to answer them now, even if I could. Please, continue your work. Plants by themselves will do nothing to heal the waiting patients without your healing hands."

Saying this, Aragorn pulled out of the tight mass and also escaped the clamour left behind in the Houses of Healing to wander back through the courtyard gardens, shining with fresh rainfall. The showers were easing off, and the sky was not so dark. Aragorn felt his pockets, checking for the hard touch beneath, before stepping out into the street. Unfortunately, an upheaval had already taken place and everywhere immediately Aragorn was swamped by more questions, when even the weather proved too moderate to rescue him.

xxxxxx

"By Elbereth, you've been in the Houses of Healing for a long time, Estel."

Aragorn looked down at the elf sitting on the bench in a hallway of the High Court, holding open a huge book over her lap and Celros.

"Valar, you have _no_ idea…" Aragorn muttered, glancing back behind him at the doors which were open to the citadel. As Arwen leant back to look out too, she caught the faint sound of shouts. But before she asked anything, she saw the look on her husband's face, and decided against it. Aragorn would explain in his own time.

"This is why I _didn't_ want to be a king," he grumbled to himself, seating himself next to Arwen. "Throngs of people harrying you with questions, thinking I have nothing better to do than sit around on a throne all day! Do they really think that's what I do? They have no realisation in the slightest!" He gave a sigh and turned to his wife, who was sitting there patiently.

"The news of Beregond's disappearance has broken out," he explained meekly.

"Oh," said Arwen. Celros raised his eyes up from the book, looking between them. "Oh dear." Celros wondered whether he was going to be sent away, and whether he should be listening to the King and Queen's conversation. Hurriedly Celros went back to the book, but his ears were fixed on the conversation above him.

"A messenger came and all the healers heard and some vamoosed to tell all to the entire population of Minas Tirith. No doubt there will be people running down the Pelennor right now to tell Osgiliath too." Aragorn rolled his eyes sarcastically.

"What did the messenger say, apart from that, unfortunately?" Arwen asked cautiously. Kingship was obviously not entirely natural to Aragorn, although it probably took its toll on all rulers.

"Faramir has also disappeared, but- _but…"_ Aragorn continued, seeing Arwen open her mouth in exclamation. "But he left this behind for us." Aragorn waved the piece of parchment in the air, before Arwen took it out of his hands.

"None of the soldiers knew he could read and write in elvish," Aragorn commented while Arwen's eyes scanned the few short words.

"Yes…" she said softly. "The elves in Ithilien taught him some, when they arrived with Legolas. Éowyn was telling me…" and she gave a soft laugh at the memory. "No, he is managing much better now. The message reads in the Common Tongue: _The first-born light turned by the second shadow into darkness and fire_."

"That is the best I would translate it, although I would have said new-born instead," Aragorn commented, indicating at the parchment. "Faramir was always one for riddles and puzzles… I suppose being a Ranger led him that way…"

Arwen looked at her husband. "Is that the same for you?" she wondered.

"My heart was tied to you, and you were enough of a riddle indeed," Aragorn laughed along with Arwen and fondly stroked her hair down her back, before leaning in to brush his lips gently over her sensitive cheekbone.

"Estel…" Arwen muttered meaningfully, her eyes indicating to Celros, who was resolutely staring at the same spot on the page of his book. Reluctantly Aragorn ceased his seductive caressing.

"So…" he said importantly, leaning forward to look closely at the message. "What do you suppose it means? All I get is sunlight at dawn being overshadowed by clouds which causes an underground volcano, which I'm sure is entirely the wrong end of the stick."

"I don't know…" Arwen said slowly. "I can't understand why Faramir wrote it in elvish too."

"Hmmm…"

They sat there in silence for a few long minutes, staring at the riddle.

Then, a small voice broke it, like a tiny pebble breaking the surface of a perfectly still lake.

"King Elessar?" Celros asked apprehensively, looking up at the baffled king with big round eyes.

"Yes, my child?" Aragorn replied, wiping a hand over his brow.

"Doesn't first-born mean the elves? Only that's what Lady Arwen explained to me yesterday morning when I was reading this book…"

"Yes, it does," Aragorn confirmed, smiling. Then he glanced back at the words on the piece of parchment. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "Yes! That could be it! First-born light: the elves."

"But what's the second shadow?" asked Arwen. "What's the first?"

"Maybe he's talking about some of the Ash Mountains by the camp, the second mountain from the end of the range?"

"Perhaps," Arwen said lightly. "Or perhaps it's something cleverer like Celros discovered."

Celros looked at them eagerly, before realising he was swinging his legs rather too viciously and quickly huddled over the book again, flicking over a sheaf of pages. Arwen watched the illustrations flash past.

"Wasn't darkness and fire the description of a Balrog?" she mused.

"Yes!" exclaimed Aragorn again. But then he became more subdued. "But I don't think Faramir could mean that there is a Balrog chasing after us across Gondor. That would be fairly easy to spot. Imagine the trails of smoke issuing from the grass."

Arwen hid a smile. "Mmmm…"

"I am afraid I am not in the riddle mood at this moment," confessed Aragorn. "It is urgent that we work out what Faramir wrote, but I honestly can't… all we have is elves…" then he trailed off, and a dim light seemed to brighten in his eyes. Arwen watched him, fascinated by the stars which seemed to swell up like pearls in the misty eyes. Recognising Aragorn as in a trance, she rose and took the piece of parchment with her.

"I'm going to read this in our bedroom, Estel," she said, but Celros seemed to be the one who heard what she was saying. "I can't concentrate with the noise of the crowds outside."

Then Arwen left, her path being followed by Celros' eyes, but he stayed sitting where he was. As Arwen vanished into the great hall, Celros looked back at he king. To his surprise, Aragorn was smiling right back at him, and he put an arm around the boy.

"That was amazing of you to work out the elves, little one," he praised, to Celros' delight.

"I like elves," he explained. "Papa used to tell me stories about them, and I've been reading even better ones in these books." He pointed out some pages of the large manuscript to Aragorn, who wore a curious smile.

"If I let you into a little secret, you may be able to see some more elves other than Arwen," Aragorn whispered softly into the little boy's ear. Celros' eyes immediately lit up.

"Please, tell me!" he urged, gripping the book tightly. "I would love to see the elves!"

Aragorn stood up, still holding Celros' eyes. "Do you promise not to say a word of this to anyone, not even Arwen?"

"Mmm!" said Celros, nodding vigorously. "Of course, I promise!"

With a smile, Aragorn began to walk down the hallway. "Come with me then, Celros," he called back behind him. The boy excitedly slammed the book shut and swung off the stone bench to scramble after the king, who was very proud of his new plan.

xxxxxx

"Why are we here?"

"Hmmm?" Aragorn glanced down at Celros.

"Sorry," Celros said hurriedly, wishing he hadn't asked. "Only, that is my room," he explained, pointing at a doorway further down the narrow passageway.

Aragorn nodded. "We are visiting a messenger who came to me earlier, and he is staying in this room here." He knocked on the door, and presently it opened to reveal a man with long wet hair, wearing a thin blue tunic and holding a towel, which he dropped in surprise.

"Forgive me, my lord!" he squeaked, hurriedly bending down to pick it up again. "I had no idea you would pop in today! I have just taken a bath…" the man indicated to a bath tub containing some mud-coloured water behind him. Celros wrinkled his nose in disgust. His father had never been so dirty when he had been travelling on errands.

"Peace, my friend," Aragorn said. "Continue, please." The man smiled thankfully and carried on rubbing his hair dry as he walked back into the room. Aragorn walked after him and so Celros scampered along at his heels.

"There are two errands which I require messengers for," Aragorn began to say. "Do you know if there are any other messengers staying here currently?"

The man shook his head, but it was hard to spot this amidst the energetic rubbing. "No, sir, they are all in the east. I… I think they were sent with the army."

"Yes, yes, of course…" Aragorn mused. "Well, this makes matters slightly more difficult."

"Where are the two errands to?" queried the messenger. "Surely I could do both in one journey?"

"One is to Imladris – sorry, Rivendell – and the other…" Aragorn paused. "I would expect my friends Legolas and Gimli to be in Ithilien, but I am not sure… they do often visit Mirkwood and Lothlórien, bringing wood elves to our land. I…"

Celros noticed that the messenger's face had visibly weakened at the mention of Rivendell: it was a very long distance away… at the fastest it would take two weeks, if he was extremely lucky. Obviously Ithilien was the preferred errand, but if the king's friends weren't guaranteed to be there, then he would be wasting time.

Aragorn nodded decidedly. "Do not worry about going to Ithilien. At times Legolas and Gimli visit us here anyway, so that is not too much of a setback. Please would you instead take a message to Elladan and Elrohir of Rivendell?"

"As your wish commands, my lord," replied the messenger.

"You will not speak to anyone else of this message?" checked Aragorn.

"As always, my duty is solely to you, my king, Elessar," the messenger assured him.

Aragorn seemed satisfied. "It is vital that Elladan and Elrohir immediately journey here to me as soon as they receive your message. They should already know of the curious change in the east. Please inform them that a threat has formed inferring linked disappearances which are now putting their sister in danger. I require their help, for I fear that I must halt this threat, but time is soon to be running very short, and I need their aid in a secret fellowship, before it is… it is too late."

The messenger's face had paled and his expression was very serious. The sodden towel hung limply over his arm as he nodded. "Yes, I think I can memorise that," he said softly, his hands twitching nervously. "I will ride with haste at dawn."

"Thank you." Aragorn sighed and then looked down at Celros. His eyebrows flew up his face in surprise.

Celros' jaw had dropped open and he looked both stunned and overwhelmed by excitement. "Elladan and Elrohir?" he whispered under his breath, but he was so overcome by amazement that the names merely shaped his lips.

Aragorn laughed. "Yes, little one, my message is for them."

Celros twisted his neck to look up at Aragorn. "But…" he murmured. "But they are the lords of Rivendell… they are Elrond's sons."

"You have learnt much, Celros," Aragorn praised, smiling. "Indeed, I know the two elf-lords very well. I spent many years as a ranger with them in the wild."

It seemed as if Celros' eyes could not get any wider. They already looked as if they might just pop out of his head at any moment. He was speechless.

"And you may indeed get to meet them, someday," Aragorn told him. "Come, we must leave our friend in peace. He faces a long journey tomorrow and the following days ahead."

The messenger smiled in gratitude. "Farewell, little one."

"Imladris?" Celros repeated. "Rivendell?" When the messenger nodded, concealing a smile, Celros let out a gasp. "My father is a messenger for Dol Amroth and he never goes to anywhere interesting like that," he said very quickly, his brown eyes gleaming like polished pebbles.

With a laugh the messenger threw his towel on the bed behind him. "When you are older, you can become a messenger for King Elessar, and then you will be able to travel to many equally interesting places," he replied. Celros positively beamed.

"Definitely… well, goodbye! And don't forget to talk to all of the elves!"

A hand gently pressed in the small of Celros' back and steadily guided him towards the door. "Farewell, may your journey be swift, and your message reach the lords of Rivendell without hindrance," Aragorn said before leaving. As he shut the door behind him, he glanced down at Celros.

"Remember your promise," he warned gently.

Celros looked up. "I remember. I won't break it," he said. "I won't tell anyone about any of the elves."

Aragorn looked away out of the window, where the weak light behind the storm clouds was failing. Their heaviness seemed to weigh down on his heart as the nightmare which he had feared began to materialise in front of his very eyes.


	14. The Sear of Sunset

14. The Sear of Sunset

A shaft of sunlight was cut off in the doorway.

"My – my lords!" Elladan and Elrohir raised their eyes from the maps before them and saw a guard hurrying in, silhouetted against the reddening sky. He was still staring over his shoulder at a scuffled commotion when he realised that they were there and he quickly straightened up.

"There is a messenger, who is demanding to see you. He will not wait, but I told him-"

"-We are busy?" finished Elrohir, his eyes flashing at the guard.

"Yes, but he claims it is highly urgent, and you will suffer greatly if there is any longer delay." The guard talked with haste and wiped beads of sweat off his forehead.

Elrohir's eyes danced over to Elladan's. "Fine, admit him in."

Almost on those words a scrubby, muddy man stumbled in to the chamber. "In – private – please," he panted, as he limped towards them. At the scornful look of the guard, he added, almost loftily, "It is the word… of the King."

"The King?" breathed Elladan.

"Hail, lords of Rivendell!" greeted the messenger, in his usual formality. "I bring you tidings from King Elessar of Gondor!"

The messenger had already snapped up the attention of the sons of Elrond, even before the attention-grabbing hail. No sooner had they been left alone, he proceeded to inform the elven twins of the King of Gondor's pressing message.

"You have heard of the strange water in the East, have you not?" he queried them beforehand.

"Of course," replied Elrohir. "Thranduil's kin informed us of it weeks ago. But what has that got to do with anything?"

"Ever since then, strange disappearances have been taking place in Gondor," the messenger told them, wiping his mud-encrusted hair out of his tired eyes, from which heavy bags hung, indicatinng his rushed journey. "King Elessar has reason to fear for the safety of his wife Arwen Undómiel, your sister."

The brothers' eyes flickered to each others' in alarm. "How can this be? This is a terrible situation, but why should she be in threat?" they asked, trying to conceal fear in their high elven faces.

"I do not know, but the King told me Arwen could be… next." The messenger watched as Elladan turned to his brother.

"Aragorn would not call us without reason."

"We should not doubt him," Elrohir agreed. He glanced at the weary messenger, who shook himself suddenly.

"My lords, it is imperative that you take your leave at once. King Elessar has requested you two to aid him in ceasing this threat before Arwen comes to any harm."

"Well…" Elladan murmured, pressing his knuckles to his lips in thought.

His twin cut over him. "What is this threat? Who is behind these disappearances? Does Aragorn know?"

The messenger shook his head dazedly. "I do not know. Nobody knows, and if the King knows, he did not let on to it. No one has seen them, or heard them, or had anything to do with them. People have just… vanished."

"And is anyone else going to help him?" quizzed Elladan, looking up. "Has Aragorn asked others for help?"

"I do not think so, my lord," answered the messenger. "I was the only messenger who was not in the East, and there was another errand, to Ithilien, to Legolas Greenleaf and Gimli son of Gloín. I think perhaps them, but whether any others are included in a secret fellowship, I do not know."

"Thank you," the brothers said together. "Is that all?"

When the messenger nodded, he bowed out of the room and gratefully accepted a comfortable room offered by the flock of flustered elves outside, who immediately bustled him away.

Inside the chamber, the mood was still, tense as if a ball had been dropped at the top of a hill, and was yet barely moving, but gradually gaining speed as it rolled faster and faster down the slopes, unable to be stopped.

"I think- it is what Ada had feared." Elrohir broke the uneasy silence and glanced at his brother, who was shaking his head in disbelief.

"How could such noble creatures disgrace themselves so much – and Arda?" Elladan spat in disgust. Elrohir could only sigh and give no answer. "I will _not_ believe it until I see it."

"Then let us go now," Elrohir advised. "Before anything else happens. It is our duty to make things right. We are the only ones who can."

"For Arda," Elladan said, his keen eyes glinting.

"For Arwen," said Elrohir, and a fearful mist slightly glazed over his eyes.

"Come, now. We shall leave Celeborn to rule Imladris." The brothers left the study and within an hour their horse's hooves were pounding over the bridge and out of their singing valley through the golden-red trees.

xxxxxx

Arwen stood alone at the top of the white tower. She was looking over the vast plains of land so far below and staring expressionlessly at the horizon to the south. Suspended a thousand feet in the air, it was possible to almost see the sea from such a height. There were clouds storming the sky which had been perfectly blue not long ago, but the final light of the setting sun illuminated the linings of the clouds and shot orange-pink fire through their seams. The light which glanced off turned the sky a rose pink, melting into violet as the night ran in from the east.

A cold wind blew, and it made the white banners on the pinnacle flutter and it whipped Arwen's hair across her still face. Arwen did not blink. The gust did not fade but heightened and her sleeves leapt up and the material struck her hands which pressed on the cold stone wall, while the banners rustled and slapped each other. Arwen's fingers were splayed out like a fan and the knuckles were white. But Arwen did not move. Her blue eyes were expressionless and gave no clue as to how her emotions were flowing.

Suddenly a hand gently came to rest on her left shoulder, but Arwen did not turn. Aragorn tenderly rested his head against hers and slid his arms around her body.

"You knew I would be here?" she whispered tonelessly.

Aragorn looked at her pale face, but her eyes remained fixed resolutely at the darkening horizon.

"I always know where you are, Tinúviel," he replied slowly. "You are never far from me."

There was a strange silence before Arwen spoke.

"What would you say if I said I would have to break that promise I made to you once?"

A shadow passed over Aragorn's face. "Which promise would you have to break to me?"

Arwen moved no muscle but continued to speak in an empty voice. "I once promised that I would never leave your side for as long as I lived here in Arda."

Aragorn leant closer to her. "And I shall make sure you never fall into a time where you have to break that promise, meleth," he whispered, nuzzling her cheek, moving towards her lips.

But a hint of a shadow fell over Arwen's usually bright eyes, causing Aragorn to stop in his seducing.

"Arwen?" Aragorn's voice broke in fear. "Arwen? What is it?"

"I have to go, Estel…" she breathed. At last she turned and fixed her eyes on his. "I have to go."

"No…" Aragorn denied, sliding his hand into hers. "No, you can stay here. I can protect you here. You are safe in Minas Tirith." Panic was not concealed in his usually strong voice.

Arwen shook her head the tiniest amount. "No, Estel… I am not." Her voice was cool and unmoving. She blinked and looked over to the bleeding clouds.

Aragorn frowned.

"Estel, they are coming. They will find me here."

Alarm filled Aragorn's grey eyes. "They may not be coming for you, meleth," he said unsurely, trying to persuade himself at the same time. "And if they do come," he continued hurriedly, "I will not let them touch you." He squeezed her hand comfortingly. "You know this."

"Estel…" Arwen sighed, and a sad smile drew a cold light onto her face. "Estel, you know they are looking for me. You know they will hunt me down."

Aragorn tore himself away from her face. Arwen swallowed and linked her other hand with his. "I do not doubt your valour, my Lord. But the nature and the number of them is not one to mock or underestimate. You have seen what they have done… what they will do…"

"Yes, what they may yet do… but we can stop this, Arwen. We should not fall into their hands." He turned to her. "Why leave? Why run openly into them?"

"Sometimes," she said strongly, "sometimes, running straight towards danger is safer than running away from it. Sometimes, it is better to leave what might seem as safe and go where it is less safe. They will target where we call safe, so unsafe is safe. It is better to go before there is no choice."

"No, please…" begged Aragorn, unable to accept Arwen's sharp elven reasoning. He squeezed her smooth hand hard. "Please… don't…"

"Don't make me cry, Estel," Arwen moaned, her eyes crystallizing with tears. "You know I don't want to leave you. It burns me just as it burns you."

"But there is a choice, Arwen. You don't have to do this."

She shook her head. "The situation now has changed. You must remember Celros. For as long as he remains in Minas Tirith, he is no longer safe. For as long as he is with us… with me… he is in danger. Someone must take him back to Dol Amroth, to Prince Imrahil. Someone must find out from him what has happened there."

"Then let me go," Aragorn pleaded persuasively. "I can go instead. You can be safe here."

"Estel, you cannot go. Your place is with your people." Aragorn hung his head in understanding at the truth of Arwen's words. "What would Minas Tirith think if their king deserted them, in this dangerous time? You cannot suddenly take flight, for what they see as a petty cause."

"Then…" Aragorn struggled to continue his fight for the argument. "Then… let the soldiers go. Let them take Celros. We can stay here, together, safe."

Once more, Arwen shook her head. "Gondor's army is in the East, by the strange water, and it is beginning its search for Faramir. And what is the use of sending the few guards of the citadel? They are our last defence now. We are even more defenceless if they go."

"I can search the city for any man willing to undertake this journey. They can go instead."

"No, Estel," Arwen contradicted. "No one else must know. It does not matter how brave or how loyal they are, we are still the King and Queen. Rumours would break out, and that would betray our plan."

Arwen turned her eyes onto Aragorn. She had never seen him stand with his head bowed so low, looking so dejected, so useless, so entirely helpless.

Smiling weakly, she stroked the side of his cheek, and the grey eyes followed her up, revealing the tender and confused inside, the pained turmoil.

"You have not failed me, meleth nín," Arwen whispered.

"I have," moaned Aragorn quietly, his voice breaking. "I have failed you." His hands shook as he reached up to stroke Arwen's long dark hair down her back, to feel her small body in his arms, and the bump of their baby press to his stomach. The crimson light of the bloody sky caught the usual sparkling light in her eyes, turning them to fires of rich red. It chilled his body.

"No…" Arwen murmured to him, shaking her head vigorously. "No."

"I am sorry, Undómiel. I am so sorry."

Arwen flicked her eyes down, for fear they would betray her true fears. "It is not you, meleth nín. It is me."

Two fingers pressed under her chin and lifted her up. When she met his eyes, the sight cracked her delicate heart.

There, for the first time, two silver tear drops were running down Aragorn's cheeks and mingled stingingly on his lips as she tenderly kissed them.


	15. The Sadness of Sunrise

15. The Sadness of Sunrise

The sun had not yet risen, and the sky was a smoky grey. A dome of white light was opening up in the East, but it did nothing to ease the bitter easterly wind which blasted through Minas Tirith, exposed and unprotected, still cool in the shade. There were only two guards at the citadel, watching the lamp-lit entrance up to the first level, and in their numbness and cold, they were oblivious to two dark figures standing on the steps leading down from the High Court.

"Please…" Aragorn's beg was less than a whisper. His face was empty, drained of all colour and hope from his sleepless night spent petrified of what was to come. The eyes usually shining silver were now a dull grey, misty as if fused with tears.

Before him, Arwen stood, her slight form shrouded in a long elven cloak. It was as deep as midnight, but it shimmered at any slight movement, just as if within the spidery threads a silvery liquid flowed. Tiny pinpricks of stars twinkled within the navy blue garment, sparkling in one place, and then fading softly away to glisten again in another. As Arwen pulled the hood gently over her delicate ears, she appeared as one of the fairest, most mystical high elves ever to grace Arda with her steps.

"Goheno nín, Estel," Arwen whispered, her voice pure and clear in the chill air. Her eyes shone a brilliantly deep blue from within the shadows of her cloak. "I wish it did not come to this."

Aragorn's fingertips brushed against Arwen's and he gently took them into his hand.

"I do not understand how you could take your leave like this," he murmured. "You… you are with child… our prince." His other hand slowly moved to press against Arwen's cloak and caress the concealed bump. Arwen's eyes fell shut at her lover's touch.

"I will be safe, Estel," she sighed, her eyes opening. "My twilight cloak has elven powers… it will conceal me in the night." Then she pulled it apart to reveal a curved sword hanging at her waist. Her eyes swung up to Aragorn's. "I am not unarmed, and I am not unskilled at defending myself."

Aragorn nodded indiscernibly. "But what if you do get hurt, meleth?" he asked. "What if…" his eyes betrayed his deepest fear as they fell down to where his hand lay on Arwen's tummy.

"I will not let that happen," Arwen replied strongly, her elven voice shimmering. "If I am injured, I will cope… I am a skilled healer, even my brothers Elladan and Elrohir are unmatched by me."

Aragorn sighed in submission but shook his head. "I still wish I could take your place."

"You know that would do no good, Estel," Arwen reminded him softly. "Minas Tirith is no longer safe. I am only safe if I am with you. And you cannot abandon your city and your people. Your duty is bound to them. You have always known this would be your fate."

"But was this always destined to be yours?" Aragorn asked her. She smiled softly, her eyes twinkled.

"The shadow does not hold sway yet. I think my eyes will fall upon you again before the end."

"But…" The doubt could not be moved from Aragorn's heart. Fear coursed through his body, intoxicated his veins, and it hurt him, painfully.

"They will come searching for me here, Estel, before they finally challenge you. By that time, I will be safely in Dol Amroth with Prince Imrahil's protection. I will be unharmed there, for he will not be targeted, and I shall betray my presence to no one else."

"What will you do then?" Aragorn continued. "What will you do once Celros is safe, once you have been searched for here?"

Arwen smiled. "I will return to you, meleth, with all the haste I have."

"I would prefer that you would never have to leave my side," Aragorn replied in a low voice. "If only Legolas or Gimli was here to take Celros to safety."

"That would not change our situation. I will be safer away from here, where they will target me," Arwen said. "And then, when they search elsewhere, I will return to you, and I will be safe again."

She gazed at Aragorn for a moment, but when he did not meet her eyes, she lifted up his chin with her slender fingers.

"Come, Estel, do not fear that which may not happen." Her voice was as quiet as a breath of wind.

"How can I not fear? I do not want to lose you, Arwen," Aragorn croaked, an aching lump in his throat blocking his breath. "I love you…"

Tears glistened in Arwen's eyes, but they did not fall. "You will not lose me. My love for you is stronger than the boundaries of Arda, and nothing will break that."

She held Aragorn's grey eyes, and slowly, with his hand under her cheekbone, he pulled her into a tender kiss. His lips moved gently over hers, as if trying to alleviate all the pain which was in her heart. She felt it sway, drawn by the longing to remain forever in his arms, so close to him.

Aragorn brought her in closer, the love dance they shared more passionate and expressive than he had ever experienced. Never before had the kiss felt so right, nor had she felt so beautiful and delicate to his touch. It seemed unfair that someone so pure and fragile should be thrown into this danger, and she could shatter just out of reach from his fingertips, cast away like dust into an empty world of memory.

When Arwen drew back, her breath was shaky. Her eyes moved to the lightening horizon, and although the sky was still dark in the west, in the east it glowed a soft orange.

"I have to go, Estel," she murmured. Aragorn stared at her a while, trying to carve in his memory every wonderful detail of her perfect elven beauty, her gentle white face, the shapely pink lips, the mirrormere blue eyes.

Concern poured out to him from Arwen's heart as their eyes met, but she still held to her choice, and Aragorn felt her pull out of his grasp. Tearing her eyes away, she gave a soft high whistle, and then stepped inside to disappear behind a pillar, leaving Aragorn standing there quite alone, trying to push away the empty feeling eating away his spirit inside. Waiting in the entrance to the High Courts was Celros, patiently sitting on the small bag he had been given, with some clothes and provisions inside.

"Come," Arwen said, as he looked up into her eyes. "It is time."

Silently Celros followed her outside, where Arwen's white horse Ninniach was standing and snorting, while his own horse Hazel was following from the stables. Aragorn walked forward to lift Celros up and strap his bag on to the already saddled horse. Arwen wistfully stroked Ninniach's silver mane, gazing unseeingly at white fountain, ceaselessly pouring forth its tinkling clear waters.

Aragorn finished helping Celros and he turned to his wife. Their eyes danced together, expressing more than could ever be put into words. And then Arwen gently kissed him, a vivid bittersweet kiss, full of fear, pain, and love.

"Namarië, Elessar," she said quietly, as he lifted her up onto Ninniach. Aragorn raised his forlorn eyes up to her, his hand gliding down from her waist to her hand.

"Namarië, Arwen…"

He held her eyes, and then slowly, she turned and murmured for Ninniach to lead away. After her, Celros followed. The sleeping citadel echoed with the _clip clop_ sound of the horses' hooves on the hard stone, but the citadel guards did not turn from their posts. Time seemed frozen as the distance between Arwen and Aragorn lengthened, the single sound ringing in their ears.

On reaching the gateway to the citadel, Arwen pulled the reigns and turned Ninniach. She looked back at the lone figure, standing at the bottom of the steps, staring back at her.

Then Arwen turned away, and she disappeared down the slope, out of Aragorn's view.

The sun climbed over the mountains in the east and a new light of day broke forth over the Pelennor Fields. It struck the white tower of Ecthelion way above Aragorn's head and dropped down to pool on the gleaming white citadel. As Aragorn slowly walked across the court of the fountain in a dream-like state, there was a rustle and flap as the banners of the king broke forth from the pinnacle of the tower and fluttered silvery-white in the morning breeze. Bells like sweet trumpets rang out, heralding the first hour of day.

But to Aragorn, they heralded what felt like his last hour.

Heavy paces dragged him over the white paving him, drawing him at last down the length of the court, until he reached the very point of the bastion of stone, only to have his body was thrown down upon the battlements. Aragorn barely carried the strength to raise his head up and look down upon the beautiful city which was his, sparkling in the first sunlight. There, his eyes traced the path of one dark rider upon a brilliant white stallion, moving down each level of the city like a ball rolling down a mountain path, until the steed broke free from the iron gates of the city, and cantered forth into the fresh breeze, trailed by a chestnut horse.

The sight which reached Aragorn's eyes was so beautiful, but so sad, that tears sprung into his eyes even as the white horse paused in its run and came about, a pearly fleck in the fields of gold. And as Aragorn held his breath, the horse rose onto its hind legs, the wind running through its silver mane, and its rider's blue cloak flowing behind like a banner of hope.

Then the pair of horses swept across the plain, and vanished through the wall which girdled the Pelennor, out into the lands far south of Minas Tirith, and out of sight of King Elessar's eyes, where he stood like a mariner of old gazing out from the high bow of his hoary ship.

It would be wrong to say he bore no hope in his heart, but sometimes that dark feeling of dread overpowers all other emotions and reasoning, and strikes to the very soul. Fear quenched what dim light was left in his darkened eyes and his breaths were stolen from his blue lips. As Aragorn collapsed onto the stone floor, his hands scraped down the smooth walls, and his body lay where it fell, right at the outermost point of the city, hundreds of feet above where the sharp keel cut into the gold sea below.

Stunned guards rushed to the body of the King, lying cold on the ground, his face ashen and downcast. But he would not be moved. In a sleepless living daze, he clung strongly to the prow of the walls for hours on end, desperate almost to tears, not to be hauled away from where he had beheld that precious last sight of his Evenstar.


	16. A Journey to Dol Amroth

This is a "transition" chapter, so hold on for the action :P it's coming!!

16. A Journey to Dol Amroth

It was three days' hard ride to Dol Amroth, if no hindrance occurred. Arwen took the road south to Pelargir, which was well-kept and smooth. While it was not an enjoyable journey on horseback for so many hours, they were not pestered by winding labyrinthine lanes leading to Morgoth-knows-where, or savage weather, either blistering heat or blinding rain.

Pelargir was quite a distance from Minas Tirith, but Arwen was determined to reach it by nightfall, although neither steed was much too pleased at the spurring on which they received. Arwen was pleasantly surprised at the sturdiness and determination of Celros' pony Hazel, who seemed to be rather more fiery if less swift than her Ninniach

The day drew on and still they had not reached the city. Yet, as the light was failing, Arwen saw far off in the distance among the clusters of trees some lights beginning to shine out, and as they advanced down the road, more began to appear, until there was a whole crown of stars twinkling by the riverside.

It was not long until they came to the outskirts of the city. The road weaved along the water's edge and every so often, between the gaps of trees, they saw how the city's glimmering reflection shimmered upon the wide Anduin, where many boats were still slipping like black beetles across its rippling surface. On the opposite bank Arwen could make out faint lights where there was a ferry moored among some low trees. The road they had travelled on led straight into the city, but Arwen chose a smaller street which wound off nearer the woodland. There, further from the shouts of the quayside and roars from taverns, were quieter houses and local inns, one of these with the sign "The Bee Hive".

The bed felt lonely without someone else there. The bed was only for one, yet it felt too big just for her and its size was offending her, as if it was specifically denying Aragorn even the chance to sleep there. She was cold, and there was no one to cuddle her and gently breathe warmth down her neck. When she tried to sleep, weariness ebbed through her body, like the wind in the Cyprus trees next to her window, but something felt missing; or rather, she was the missing part and Aragorn was missing her.

xxxxxx

There was a knock on the door which woke them the next morning and Arwen opened her eyes to see a maid entering the room. "Good morning, miss," she said, carrying a tray, which she laid down on the small table with a soft clatter as the cups shook on their saucers. "I've brought you some breakfast."

Slowly Arwen eased herself up, lightly rubbing her stomach which was concealed under the thick layers of blankets. "Thank you," she said, and the maid curtseyed and left.

"What's for breakfast?" Celros asked, turning over. "I'm hungry."

"Come and have a look," Arwen replied, pouring out some tea and sipping it little by little. There was a rack of toasted bread and honey, as well as butter and a small portion of fruit, which they took and saved for the day's journey.

The weather still held out for the second day, despite the film of cloud over the pale sky. It passed just like the first, except that there was certain stiffness and aching which was more prominent after such long a ride, and the wind was definitely cooler after departing over the River Sirith. They crossed the estuary where the Rivers Serni and Gilraen merged in late afternoon, and camped the next night beside the banks of Linhir, off the road and in a wild meadow below some overshadowing trees.

Perhaps it was the feeling that they had had two days of good fortune that caused Arwen to have a foreboding of the third day to come. For some reason, nothing was going the right way. The night had been cold, and nowhere had they been able to escape its sneaking fingers, even when huddled together under their cloaks and the few blankets they had brought. They woke early to the hiss of rain and the plopping noise of odd drips breaking through the archway of trees above. Breakfast was short and unwelcoming; damp Lembas bread and bruised apples, icy water from a stream.

When they stepped out from under the overgrown bower which had thus protected them, Arwen truly experienced the rainfall. The raindrops were heavy and large, and drummed on the earth like the pounding of thousands of feet marching to war. They hurried to mount their horses as quickly as possible while their limbs were numb to the bone. Ahead the hills were out of sight in the thick grey clouds which sunk around the summits as if loaded down with the weight of the whole sodden sky.

They soon encountered marshland quite by chance; for in the fogginess they had lost the path they had been on, and now it faded into lumps of grass amidst boggy ground. Scores of fish swam in the pool beside the horses' hooves, leaping up like black darts in the pouring rain. Arwen made out a way across and prayed to Eru that her horse would not stumble and flail in the swallowing ponds.

There was no way to tell what time of day it was; all light, or lack thereof, was the same. When it grew darker, it could have been before the sun reached its highest above the clouds for all Arwen could tell. All they had to rely on was the hunger in their stomachs, which for Celros meant it was permanently time to stop.

They managed to pull out of the marshes just when the flies were beginning to gather in swarms and pester the riders' cheeks, and the hillsides appeared very close. They were able to start cantering on again and rode hard into the vales between the great hills, startling various carrion-fowl and other birds, screeching into the close air.

So miserable was the journey that Arwen felt like hanging her head and crying. Despite the trees which littered the valleys, nothing could restrain the torrents of rain and the cold which it brought. Her cloak, which could usually keep her dry, was even becoming soaked through, and her dress underneath damp and clammy. The day seemed so laboriously long, and yet shadows seemed to fall around them so alarmingly quickly. They suddenly discovered that although they had escaped the small mountains, they were in now in dense woodland. Arwen knew that the city was just ahead to the west, but in the blithering darkness there was no way she would be able to find her way out of the forest.

She stopped and called Celros to her. Together they lit two lanterns each and began to search for a place on foot. Streams of mud wound around their ankles and dripping foliage launched around their knees. The path was so overgrown, and the air so wet, that the impossibility of finding anyway sheltered was dawning on Arwen's mind.

"Look; here," she indicated to a minimal gap between the ferns where a laurel bush grew. They tugged their horses into the undergrowth with them and slid under the bushes. It did not matter that the ground was soggy; their clothes were already waterlogged.

"What is there to eat?" Celros implored mournfully from under the trunk of the bush. He curled up next to Arwen, who climbed back under with a small parcel she had taken from Ninniach's saddle bag.

"Only this," she said softly, passing him half a piece of elven way bread. It was fulfilling for neither of them, and it did not warm them, or dry them. They lay there, in the cold, wet, hungry and alone.

It was at this point that Arwen really felt a true loss of hope. She could almost feel the fingers of death spreading out of the night and ringing round her neck. If the people she feared were trying to find her had finally caught up with them that night, she would not have been surprised. But she also would not have been able to do anything. What could she do? She felt so weak, so exhausted; every movement took so much effort, each knock or scratch on a branch hurt so badly. In this situation, the thought of Aragorn could make thousands of tears spring into her eyes.

"Aragorn, please don't leave me…" she cried under her breath. There was another roll of thunder, and, glancing up, Arwen saw slices of rain stab down from the angry black sky and strike her curled body. The raindrops melted away into her tears. She could not tell that the rain was pouring down her cheeks; her tears were so plentiful and stung so intensely. "Meleth, I'm scared… why did I ever leave you?"

xxxxxx

The storm was so terrible, not even an organ would have been able to sound its tremulous chords above the clash of the rain on the shaking leaves, drumming on the bare earth, or even compete with the angered bellows of thunder, venting its fury with full pelt.

He could not even dare to raise his eyes from the ground as he rode through the dripping forest. His poor horse was snorting and weeping the rain out of his eyes, stumbling over the pools of mud and soaking undergrowth. The rider had tried wiping the water off his bedraggled form, but his cloak was drenched minutes after the storm broke, and he had long resigned to the fact of being wet and cold.

He knew the place was drawing close. He had been there many times before, and at last he could escape this frightful weather. However, just as he bowed out of the screeching wind, his horse whinnied and turned to the side. The rider squinted through narrowed eyes and saw a flash of white amidst the black of night; a horse's shoulder, the head hung low in defeat. Then, as he moved closer with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief, a flash of lightning illuminated the most implausible sight beneath the bowing branches. His heart raced. The storm seemed suddenly to be even more intense and vibrant to his senses in those seconds, when he made his choice.

He moved towards the still body.

xxxxxx

The sweet scent of a fresh wet morning awoke Arwen gently the next day. She cautiously shifted herself over so that she could sit up, only to alarmingly discover with shock that somehow she and Celros were sitting in a small sheltering cave, and that her twilight cloak, despite its powers, was still soaking from the torrents of rain. Her horse Ninniach was standing up a couple of metres away, his head hanging low, indicating his deep slumber. Celros too was unaware that they were in a different place from that which they had gone to sleep in the evening before. Arwen nervously stood up in order to find out what had happened, and pulled her hood back a little so that the veil lifted from her eyes.

Suddenly a terrific wave of nausea hit her and she fell back against the cool stone wall of the cave, closing her eyes and trying to focus solely on the icy drops of water pressing to her back, in hope that she would calm herself down. After a minute the sickening feeling in her stomach which had been stirred was lying low, and Arwen dared herself to move again. This time she felt less wobbly and she made her way out to the entrance of the rock hollow.

Arwen then saw a few feet away a young man with long light brown hair sitting on a log, stoking a little camp fire and cooking some meat on a spit above it. Before she had time to think of what she ought to do, he had caught sight of her movement and he turned to smile to her. He was very young, barely in his twenties, with a kind face and warm eyes, and he wore clothes which had gone through a lot, to say the least, with all kinds of patches and darns littering the topmost layers. But no matter what he was wearing, Arwen could tell from his complexion that he was a man from the folk of Dol Amroth.

The young man rose and walked over to her, his arms open as a sign of peace. "My lady, how are you?" he welcomed her, his voice soft but with the unmistakable hint of coastal accent. Arwen smiled warily back but did not have a chance to say anything as he quickly explained to her, "I'm sorry if I frightened you. I brought you and the little boy in from the rain in the middle of the night. It was looking up for an awful storm but you seemed so completely unaware that I thought you must be in a fever, and I could not leave you to get drenched and frozen into icicles."

"Thank you, that was very kind of you," Arwen replied, following cautiously after him as he indicated to the fire and sat down once more. "You only frightened me a little. I must admit that I was so tired yesterday and that I did not realise my danger. But how did you find me at that time of the night?"

"I myself was searching for shelter. I do not have a home to stay in, but I know all the woods and lands around Dol Amroth like the back of my hand. This cave was quite near and on my way I spotted the boy, and then you, huddled under the scrub. I carried you both to the shelter, and led your two horses as well. It was lucky I did, for later on the rain became as thick as fog and it was incredibly stormy for hours. Even when I found you, the rainwater was just pouring down off the shiny leaves onto your body and I could not bring myself to let you stay like that. But your face was so peaceful and you wouldn't wake."

Blushing faintly Arwen glanced down into the yellow tongues of fire, diving under the damp sticks. Comments on her elven-fairness never failed to touch her, and hundreds of years worth of it seemed only to increase her modesty.

"Stay with me for breakfast," he pleaded with her. "I have some meat which I caught at dawn this morning, and some bread and fruit left over from the day before yesterday. It is fine, I assure you."

"That would be lovely," Arwen assured him. "Thank you." She was internally relieved that she would not have to find food some other way. They had barely any left which was not in crumbs, although she had not made this known to Celros yet, and she could not bear to eat another bite of lembas bread with the way she was feeling right now.

"Oh, my apologies," the man said suddenly, and Arwen looked up at him. "My name is Erandur. I should have told you before, I am sorry for my discourtesy."

"That is fine, Erandur," Arwen replied lightly, not mentioning hers. "But I remember you said that you do not have a house to live in. Why is that? I can see you come from Dol Amroth, and I did not know that they have outcasts."

Erandur smiled grimly. "No, I am not an outcast. I am an orphan, and have been since the age of seven. I have been without a family for over ten years, and I am now twenty. My mother died in childbirth." He prodded the fire with a stick, encouraging a spark to spring out at them. "So my father raised me. He and his younger brother were very close. They both loved to travel; he was an errand sailor, who went to places along the coast, and my uncle was a messenger who rode between cities.

"But when I had just turned seven my father's boat was raided by a fleet of corsairs, and he was killed. My father's brother took me in, with his newly wedded wife, and I lived contentedly for a few years, as much as I could while bearing the loss of my parents. Then one night when my uncle was away on errand, the harbour of Dol Amroth was attacked by Haradrim and I was taken for slavery along with some other children. They took us far away, and only after many attempts did I manage to escape, alone. Now I roam the outskirts of the city here, where I have the safety and ability to fend for myself."

Arwen was incredibly shocked and her heart was turned towards him. "Surely you could have returned to Dol Amroth? Your uncle would have given you a room again."

Erandur shook his head sadly, turning the meat on the spit over to brown on the other side. "I went back there, but the house was gone, and I could not find them. I have no way of earning money to buy a home, so this is what I do." He indicated to the trees, his horse and the fire. "I hunt and wander like a Ranger. I never linger in one place for more than a day."

They fell silent for a while, and Arwen had time to think about Erandur. She hoped that he would be able to come with her, as she was becoming weaker and more vulnerable than she had anticipated that she would. It was likely that he would want to travel with her, and when Arwen began to notice his stolen glances at her, she had no doubt. Two swords and a bow was better than only one sword, and she if she was attacked she would barely be able to hold a large number of them off herself, let alone Celros. She could tell Erandur liked her, albeit in another way, for he had not yet realised, through the ambiguity of her elven cloak, that she was pregnant.

"Who is the little boy?" he questioned her, gazing into her blue eyes. Arwen blinked and looked down.

"He is of your kin. He lives in Dol Amroth. His name is Celros."

Coicidentally, Celros walked out of the cave just at that moment. Erandur exchanged greetings with him before saying to Arwen,

"You know, he looks remarkably like me when I was just a boy."

Arwen smiled. "I do agree. Perhaps you are relatives?"

"I could not say," Erandur said abruptly.

They ate breakfast together, and meanwhile Arwen asked if he could take her to Dol Amroth.

"Of course," he replied. "I always take pleasure in returning home, even if I have not lived there now for years."

When Arwen let slip that she was heading for Prince Imrahil, she could no longer hide from him who she was.

"Who are you?" he asked softly. When she did not reply at first, he said, "Only someone of a high position would visit the Prince."

She looked at him slightly repentantly and drew back her hood fully, now exposing her whole head. "I am Arwen, Queen of Gondor," she murmured.

Erandur was quite taken aback. "Bless the Valar, oh, I am so sorry," and he abruptly stood up, before wondering what to do. "Would you like some less burnt toast?" he added timidly.

Arwen just laughed. "I am quite content. I am sorry that you were deceived. But perhaps now you would not mind accompanying me on my way back to Minas Tirith? -For the road is tiresome and not without peril."

Erandur bowed. "It would be my honour, my lady."


	17. Prince Imrahil

17. Prince Imrahil

"It is a beautiful city." They were riding down a dusty white lane which brought them out of the woodland surrounding Dol Amroth and puffs of cloud were kicked up from the horses' hooves.

"Look, look at the palace!" Squealed Celros in delight, pointing to the towers rising above all other buildings clustered on the sea edge, right on the outcrop of cliffs into the huge bay. It was built of grey stone, carved into smooth curving shapes as if by the hands of the ocean reaching out from the depths below, stroking its form before the waves slid back down the cliffs and into where they belonged. It stretched across nearly the length of the city, or it appeared to at any rate, with all the outbuildings and stables. Its covered walkways and arched windows shone with silver slates collected from the rocks, and all on the walls iridescent shells studded the gaps in the stone like jewels, winking like stars in the bright sunshine.

Three turrets rose higher than the rest, circular and with parapets ringing the pinnacle. Turquoise banners unfurled from the peaks with white swans riding them, flowing in the wind against the background of the denser turquoise waves flowing in the sea with white seagulls riding those.

From the road Arwen, Celros and Erandur were taking, it looked as if the land swooped downwards and up like a giant wave itself, with the city white and shimmering like foam on its back. After the wild storm the night before, with the whole city shining with puddles, it looked deceivingly calm but indisputably welcoming to the travellers.

As the three riders entered the city walls, huge clouds were still racing across the sky, and the wind was very strong. People in the gate town ran around trying desperately to hold onto their cloaks and stop their scarves from unwinding as they picked cutlery out of the mud and raked smashed pottery off scratched cobbles. The colours of the city were found dotted all over the place, one flag caught on a beacon, another ripped in to the shape of a star by a row of spears outside the armoury, while there were blue shreds which was all that remained of a flag which had unfortunately blown into a dog's kennel, and the sheepdog, understandably scared out of its wits by the thunder and roaring gale, had torn it apart in a mad frenzy, as if shaking its head would shake out the drops of rain and booms of the night.

Amidst this chaos, a tall cedar tree had collapsed in a market place, uprooting and flinging massive blocks of stone everywhere, and managing to stretch across at least two main streets. Arwen, Celros and Erandur were forced to take many detours around this, and the taverns (where bartenders were gathering up sticks of chairs and legs of tables from the road outside in a panic) and many houses where they narrowly ducked out of the way before pails of rain water were poured down onto the roads from a leak in the ceiling. Children ran around splattering mud over their clothes and grimfaced adults, while cats ran about pathetically mewing and dogs howled and wagged their tails, showering any unlucky passer by with a delightful cold rain.

Due to these results of the autumn storm, and the positioning of the palace at the furthest point, it was after midday when they had passed through the old town and the cliffs and they now approached the citadel. While Arwen was wearing her twilight cloak, and drew the long hood over her face, the guards at the gates, who had some elven blood in their veins and a few elves left among them, immediately recognised her as an elf and thus a friend of the city. It was not difficult for her to persuade them to allow Celros and Erandur through with her, since they could easily be related, for all the guards knew from her cloaked form.

Yet when they came to the drawbridges which led directly across the causeway and into the palace, Arwen's presence was received somewhat more brusquely. After long conversations where bold defensive questions were asked and delicately riddled answers were given, it was agreed that Arwen could be admitted to the King's halls, and Celros too, as long as he was kept in her company; but Erandur could not. His tatty clothes and air of distance showed himself up to not be a citizen of Dol Amroth, despite his upbringing there. But he himself had no objections, since the life he had led had never brought him near royalty or such high places, and he did not feel that he should go somewhere which he did not deserve. The guards allowed him to visit a fine tavern while they waited with the three horses, and that was more than he could have wished for.

By this time, the sun was already sinking over the sky. The clouds were stained orange, pink flames licking their bellies, and purple shadows cast over the white buildings. Torches were lit simultaneously as the guards pushed open the doors to the great palace and Arwen entered the hall. It was very tall, and the floor stretched out with white paving, where shadows and lights flickered and shone. Guards dressed in silver and blue lined up the sides, waiting like statues in archways. Two long tables were laid out down each side, and in the centre of the hall, a great fire was blazing, ringed with huge silver stones which gleamed in the heat like mystical pebbles from the sea, from which strange mists sprang.

The orange torchlight drew Arwen's eyes down to the end of the hall, where, lit by the glowing aura, stood the form of a man. He had his back to them, so that all which could be seen was the brown hair rippling down to rest on shoulders cloaked with rich blue velvet. His lower body was obscured by a highly carved chair and a wide table next to it, covered with leather and littered with scrolls and manuscripts.

As the doors shut with a click, a rush of cold air swept in behind them, and Arwen felt for the first time the warmth of the hall. She slowly began to walk down its length, but Celros, who had a mixture of awe and fear in his eyes, appeared so intimidated that he froze to the spot and refused to follow her.

Even when Arwen had passed the fireplace, the man had not turned. She stopped a few feet away from the dais he stood on, where he appeared to be gazing out of a window, one hand to his forehead, deep in thought. Odd murmurings reached Arwen's ears, and, understanding the stresses of a ruler, she patiently waited for his approval.

After not long a guard coughed and stepped forward. "My liege, there is someone who wishes to speak to you."

At this, the man turned round, and Prince Imrahil revealed himself to the audience in the hall before him. His face was kingly and noble, his brow high set, his eyes sharp and blue, his mouth, even when not smiling, kind, and his expression welcoming even when not specifically tried to be so. He had an instinctive air about him which suggested that he had just stepped off a ship after years sailing on the sea, whether it was the twinkling like sea spray on his clothes, or the swan feathers lining the fur coating of his cloak. His ears were brought up into a sharp point just like Arwen's, and there was no hiding the elven blood which he held precious to his kin.

Prince Imrahil's eyes fell on the Arwen's shrouded body. For a moment, he just stared at her, but then she recognised the calculations in his keen glance, and raised her head a little higher when he blinked.

"Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?" he asked, walking forward a few paces, and watching her carefully. He then noticed Celros standing at the back of the hall, looking anxiously up at him. The Prince's expression became slightly more puzzled, but he retained composure, something which Arwen herself was very talented at.

"A friend," Arwen simply replied. Instantly, she could tell that Prince Imrahil knew that she was elvish. He relaxed and immediately he became more open and friendly even in just the manner he beheld her.

The Prince opened his arms. "Tolo…" he called to her. "You are welcome here."

Arwen waited, drawing his interest more strongly upon her. She did not want to reveal her presence to any other; it was vital that no one knew that she had left Minas Tirith, for the peculiar news would be sure to reach whoever it was that was stalking people… and she would be exposed.

Very slowly, Arwen drew her hood back, and revealed her face to the Prince and no one behind. He could not restrain a silent breath opening his lips and his eyes rounded slightly into a thoughtful expression. "My lady…" he breathed. Yet Arwen silently lifted a finger to her lips and nodded slowly in agreement with his train of thought.

"But… where is…?" he looked at her meaningfully. There was no need to strain for a sight of King Elessar, or a crowd of servants or lords or soldiers or elves behind her; they both knew there was none other.

Arwen shook her head, and then she said softly, "I need your help."

The Prince sighed and turned away. "Ai… I do not know why… _why?_"

"Imrahil," she said simply. When he looked at her, she drew open her twilight cloak and as she raised it up with her arms like the wings of a great graceful bird it fell away from her form, and fully revealed that she was pregnant to the Prince, and also the sword at her hip. If he had been shocked before, that was nothing to now. But it had the desired communication on him. Imrahil ushered forward towards Arwen fearfully and urged her to conceal the secret once more in case the eyes of any guards around saw. When she met his eyes again, he consented and quietly led her with him to the window out of which he had been staring earlier, actually part of an arched door which opened out onto a balcony. Arwen stepped out into the buffets of wind while the Prince closed the door firmly behind them.

"My lady, why are you here?" he asked worriedly, turning to face her. His face looked quite pale in the dimming light of day. Arwen, cloaked like a shadow of night, had her white hands resting upon the elegant balcony rail.

"I need your help, Imrahil," she replied again.

"But," he began, and the urgency in his voice caused Arwen to turn round. "But, where is the King? Where are all your servants and guards? Surely you have not come alone… and so… vulnerable." His eyes fell down to where the folds of the cloak were innocently teased in the wind.

"We must be quick," Arwen said quickly, glancing back at the chamber behind, glowing brightly through the glass panes.

"No one will hear; you are quite safe outside here," the Prince replied, encouraging her to speak.

Arwen looked back. "I am in grave danger," she said. "As you may or may not have known, there have been disappearances in the kingdom of Gondor over the past few months, and they are escalating in order of value to Elessar. I was no longer safe in Minas Tirith, where I was sure to be targeted next. By coming here, when they go to the citadel, they will find me gone, and no one will be able to tell them where, because no one will know. I will now return to the city, and I shall be safe there once more, for they will believe me to not be there, and not return."

Prince Imrahil gazed out to see. "Bless the Valar," he muttered. He took a pause in thought, before turning his head back. "I cannot believe what has happened. I have indeed heard of the disappearances of Beregond and also Lord Faramir. The rumours surrounding a magical encryption are phenomenal, you would not believe the difficulty I have in deciphering the old wives' tales. But I can see the threat… Yet why do you think you are safe here? I have but the standard defences of Dol Amroth."

"Aah, but they should not find me here. At this moment, they will be searching Minas Tirith."

"I see." He nodded. "But – who is the little boy accompanying you? He is not of kin to you."

"His name is Celros; he is one of your people. He came to the city in September on a pony, all by himself. He said his father had sent him, and his mother, she had also disappeared." Arwen gave him an insightful look.

"I see," Imrahil murmured again. "I have indeed recently had news that a family has quite vanished from their home by the coast. A messenger, was it? Yes, that was two months ago now, at least. Strange, he had always been a loyal friend. Very trustworthy. Not fond of long distances, I think he liked to see his family every few days."

"He sounds the same person," Arwen confirmed. "But if the wife has no significance to you, or Aragorn, why would she be taken too? And before anyone else?"

They both mused together in deep thought. The clouds were no longer flushed pink, but instead they had sunk into dark violet, and the sea distantly roared on the beaches, no more than a tossing shadow to the eyes. As the cold wind whipped Arwen's cloak, they spoke once more.

"I do not know the answer to that mystery, but I swear, Arwen, I will help you."

"Then take Celros," Arwen said. "He needed to come back here, no one was safe around me in Minas Tirith. Please, care for him, before his parents return."

Imrahil looked at her from under heavy eyebrows. "If they return."

Arwen held his gaze back. "They will return."

The Prince bowed respectfully. "My Lady," he said. "You shall be given a room in my palace until as long as needed. If you remain cloaked, no one need know of your presence here. The child will be safe with me as his guardian, as you permit it."


	18. The Shadow of the Night

18. The Shadow of the Night

Rolls of thunder obscured the beating of the hooves on the ground and thick clouds pulled a black mantle over the moon and the stars. The storms of autumn had returned to the lands around Gondor, albeit less violently than the night before. But for Arwen this was an opportunity for an unnoticed passage to the White City, rather than a deterrent.

Now that she had bidden Celros farewell, and rested for a few hours in the luxury of Prince Imrahil's excellent care, Arwen was keen to set off for home; for Aragorn. With a Ranger as her companion, Arwen felt protected and secure, and since Erandur's horse was just as fast as Ninniach, who had been brought up among the elves, they could go much faster than on her previous ride to Dol Amroth. Despite the strong wind, it was still an hour before midnight and they had covered a day's entire journey.

It had begun to rain again, so that the land appeared to be no more than progressively darker shadows, but Erandur's knowledge of the land was intricate, and not only could he lead her through the night, but he could take her on shorter routes than before.

Yet the whistling of the wind was sounding like whispers in Arwen's elven ears, and lulled into a sense of sleep, she fell into a vision, first of Aragorn; she could see him, turning round, his grey eyes searching for her, warning, "Be careful, meleth." But as these voices continued, Estel faded into shadow and the voices morphed into hissings and screams, saying, "Beware of the night."

Whereas on setting off Arwen had been hopeful, now after jerking uneasily into consciousness once more, these forebodings were starting to edge on her conscience, and she found herself in an increasingly frightened state, her alertness escalating into tender nerves, set off by any unnatural noise. Erandur seemed to be able to sense her unrest, and so, when they had covered almost two thirds of their journey back to Minas Tirith, he called for a break.

"What is it that frightens you?" he asked, lighting a lantern and holding it up to her face. Arwen drew back her hood to reveal a stark white complexion and dark eyes. She bowed her head and as the wind howled mournfully she glanced around.

"I fear that we will not make it back to the city unaccompanied," she whispered, with the same feeling as one who is being watched.

Briefly Erandur's eyebrows knitted together. "They speak of the foresight of elves; what is it you foretell?"

In the lashing of the rain, their two horses, hot from the hard ride, snorted and steamed in the air. While he held their reigns Erandur was wiping the sheets of water off his face and drips were continually slipping off the end of his nose. A large burst of thunder was currently booming loudly overhead.

"We need to go," Arwen said, breathing shakily and trying to pierce the darkness with her elven eyes. "Quickly; we should never have stopped."

Erandur looked up at her, trying to fathom why; and suddenly, the roar of thunder ended, and instead, another pounding was heard, the drumming of many oncoming hooves on the ground.

Hurriedly Erandur blew out the lantern and stowed it back in the saddlebag. But their two horses were twitching violently and reared up neighing wildly, startled by the oncoming stampede. Erandur called out to them, attempting to calm them down into silence so as to not betray their whereabouts, but Arwen walked slowly around him as if in a daze, herself drawn towards the sound which was drawing towards them, like the alluring calls of death which beat down to the heart.

"Let them go," she turned back to him. "We will all be safer if they flee."

"But we won't escape in time if we don't ride," Erandur told her, alarmed.

"No…" Arwen looked away again. "We won't escape; I can see them coming, for they have also seen us."

Erandur's hand fell away and the horses broke free, cantering away into the hissing rain and braying at the flashes of lightning. Suddenly, the outline of scores of black riders was made clear against the sky, and Erandur quaked. "Who are they?" he asked her softly.

Arwen clutched her hand to her chest, bowing her head. "They have come," she murmured.

"Who?" Erandur pressed her desperately. But Arwen could not hold back her trembles, shivering at the herald of the dread which she had feared for so long. Erandur resigned to not receiving an answer and hurriedly pulled Arwen's twilight cloak around her. "At least you can stay hidden," he told her, putting a hand on her shoulder comfortingly, "if your elven powers work as well as they have before."

"But-" Arwen began to stutter, as the shadows of the riders became apparent even without lightning. Erandur was more usurped by Arwen's reaction than by their approach themselves. "What about you?"

"Why should I fear them?" he retorted, somewhat indignantly, as if he had not committed a crime against them. Yet Arwen continued to urge him to conceal himself, knowing that her apparent crime was to simply be loved by Aragorn, and that nothing would save Erandur from such cruelty.

At that moment, both Arwen and Erandur became aware of a strange thing. Pinpricks of red had emerged from the darkness, tiny gleams of blazing fire were streaming out of the shadows of the riders, closing in upon them. This drove Erandur to heed Arwen's words. "Where?" he asked her hastily. "Where should I go?"

A voice called out from the riders, rising on a cold level above the drumming of the ground. "You cannot hide from us." Erandur turned to look up. A ring of fire, a string of flames on a girth of darkness began to seethe around the Ranger. The pricks of red were settled in each rider's hood, like blood-thirsty eyes searching avariciously for the most seductive prey.

Unseen, shrouded in the cloak of the night, Arwen bowed her head, murmuring a prayer in elvish. With her eyes closed she could see Aragorn, just as clear as when they had parted, the tears in his eyes, the cares laden on his brow, his scars from the battles in the years before all the more clear; for the sacrifices they had made for each other had already been to the boundaries of Arda; she had already forsaken her immortality and her people for him, all for the hope of his love – but it had all come back to this: the fear of death at the hands of the Shadow. And yet this perceptive plan wrought by her elven wisdom had been their sole hope if Arwen was to have any chance at remaining safe – alive – if their love should later flourish into life, and so any regret was in vain; but Arwen could not restrain the tears which were watering in her eyes, or the fear which seared through her heart, warning that if she made one mistake, all the suffering she, and he who bore her deepest love, had gone through could be lost forever.

The sound of breathing closing the air around her made Arwen apprehensively open her eyes. Erandur was spinning round, one hand resting on his sword hilt, the other held up as a token of peace. Continually, the riders hooded in black circled them, riding round them, beating the ground and blurring their vision into streaks of flame and encompassing darkness, until all of a sudden, by some silent signal, they ceased their encirclement and came to a halt. Then the riders simultaneously leapt down to the ground, lowering their heads, so that the flames vanished.

"Who are you?" Erandur said slowly, still turning round. "I offer you no threat."

A cruel laugh was, heard, soft and then increasing in volume. A figure stepped forward, his glistening black cloths flapping in the wind. "Anyone who hinders us from the quarry in our mission is a threat to our interest." Arwen heard this and her eyes widened. She wondered in her mind if their mission was indeed that which had caused all the disappearances, but in her heart she knew that this was only too true.

Erandur looked at him, and then said, "Oh, well in that case, so as not to hinder you, I'll be going…" He made to part a way through the figures, but they abruptly drew their swords, which pointed directly at his heart. His eyes rounded before he looked back at the leader.

"I can help you in no way," Erandur tried to persuade his way to safety. "I would not interrupt your journey."

"Let us decide that," the voice replied, low and simmering. "We are searching for someone whom you may have seen." At this Arwen's fears were confirmed and her veins began to surge with blood, her heart aching painfully in her constricting chest.

Erandur raised his eyebrows. "Oh yes? A smithy?"

The leader held back his tongue. "We are looking for the Queen of Gondor. We will buy any information from you, if it is of use to us." At present Arwen could feel herself shaking, but tried to lock herself still, in case anyone noticed the night sky swaying in front of their vision.

"What do you want with her?" Erandur could not hold back himself from exclaiming, and then hastily added, "She's… not _that_ great in battle, if that's what you want her for." He secretly crossed his fingers that she would not hold that against him, but Arwen barely heard his offence.

"Tell us what you know," the voice became aggressive. "Speak quickly!"

"Who are you?!" Erandur erupted. "You're downright odd, just like those Nazgûl in the great war."

Instantly the figure pulled back his hood and the flames became plain: two eyes, wreathed with flame, slits for pupils, flashed out of the shadow: the very sign of Sauron himself – the Great Eye. They burned straight into Erandur, flickering and seething, mocking his terror.

"I ask that you come quietly with us, you will be of less use as leverage dead, but if you choose to encumber us then I will gladly deal you your fate."

Erandur swallowed, stepping backwards, causing Arwen to slip to the side out of his way.

"I cannot let you harm the Evenstar," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I am sorry, but I will not let you."

"Ah…" the figure spoke again, twisting a smile onto his face. "She has value to you? And you are prepared to risk you life for that? No, that will provide far too good leverage for me to instead choose to engage in battle with you."

In a flash Erandur drew his sword. "I will not provide any leverage at Arwen's expense, or one to whom she is dear." He pointed his sword tip at the neck of the cloaked figure. All the hooded figures presently revealed their flaming eyes to prepare for what was to come, but their leader seemed not to heed this. What he did appear to notice was when Arwen let slip a pleading whisper of "no…" to Erandur, and the head of the shadow snapped up as if catching a breath of wind in his ear.

Then as quick as lightning his mind changed. He drew his own sword and began striking against Erandur; but Erandur was too skilled. Used to evading and working for his own survival, he was a sharp mover and nifty at escaping blade strokes. Arwen held her breath, darting out of their way as they wheeled round the circle. The mannerisms of the attacker were peculiar, for he moved just as an elf moves, gracefully, nimbly and silently, never unbalanced, nor ungainly. However Erandur proved to be a good defender, clearly not wishing to kill his oppressor, but merely to provide hindrance.

This did not please the shadowed figure. His eyes flashed to the side, revealing his anger. "Bind his hands," he whispered snidely. "Now. Take him captive."

Suddenly all the shadowy bodies began to draw inwards and Arwen wondered how she was to not be trodden on or walked into, or, worse, cut as a sword was lifted. Erandur would not go quietly; he had his sword raised, and suddenly lunged into battle, striking out at anyone near him, saving Arwen's location for the time being.

Arwen knew he could not fight alone, but she also understood that her shining sword would become visible, even if her form shrouded in the cloak of twilight was not. So, as the cries heightened and Erandur became swamped by attackers, she unsheathed her blade, still slipping between figures, and by keeping it down low she could swipe at their legs, preventing them from totally overwhelming Erandur. They began to cry out bitterly as their calves were bitten, but the source was unseen, for there were so many black forms enclosing the Ranger that Arwen could swiftly move among them, spirally her way back towards Erandur.

Erandur was struggling, for at any one time he had at least four attackers upon him, yet he was coping well, his sword whistling through the air and searing through their dark cloaks while he kicked out at one and elbowed another. Mysteriously the shadows were falling back from him, toppling to their knees as if in their hearts they had found submission. Constricting ropes had been pressed upon him, but Erandur had managed to slice through them all.

At this time Arwen had drawn very close to Erandur and also to the leader, who was standing as still as a statue, just as if he were dead, except for his eyes; the slitted pupils were moving across the burning coals, following the curious happenings which falted his intention. Arwen had noticed that he seemed to be aware of something unnatural afflicting his men and that he was trying to work out what, such that he was subsequently trailing her path, his gaze constantly on the figure one behind her.

Then suddenly he cried out something, a dreadful call just as in the Black Speech of Mordor, and a new torrent of cloaked figures poured upon Erandur's body, totally overthrowing his balance. He was brought to the ground, along with about six others; but this left Arwen in the direct vision of the leader. They were fiercely beating Erandur, kicking his chest so he was winded, with a sword held to his neck.

Arwen was forced to think quickly. She hastily struck at some of the figures suffocating the Ranger, but although nightshade and thick rain was still very much covering them, as she raised her curved blade before a stroke, it gleamed a brilliant amber colour in the light of the leader's flaming eyes. He made an unexpected dive for the area around the sword, catching Arwen's body with his long groping fingers and sharp digging nails. She tried to slip out of the way, but he was standing on her cloak, and she tripped to the ground, her breathing heavy and audible.

Every black figure fell silent and a hundred flaming eyes and one pair of soft green eyes watched as the grey hand pulled back the cloak which had concealed Arwen from even their piercing sight. Her sword lay glowing brightly at her side, shining like the sun with the sheets of rain washing over the smooth metal. She was out of breath and pinned to the ground - trapped. The figure knelt down beside her and his hands searched for the material he knew was there. Blind fingers felt for the hood and slowly teased it back.

"Now look who this is…" he whispered slyly, recognising the elven face before his eyes. "Did you think that you could evade us with your cunning elven tricks?" Arwen's eyes flashed a deep blue in the dark and hatred poured out into the atmosphere around her. The leader said nothing more but continued to pull apart Arwen's twilight cloak from her body. She caught Erandur's eye through the darkness, fearful, and suddenly she realised, but it was too late.

Whispers like the hissing of snakes reared about in the air as Arwen's body was revealed to them. She sat up quickly, tearing the cloak out of the leader's hands and wrapping her stomach in it once more, before nervously glancing up as his shadowy form rose to join his companions shrouded in the darkness.

"This is fortuitous," he said, his voice rattling through the bleak night. "For not only has the wife of the King fallen into our midst, but she is _with child_. This greatly improves our hope." He laughed, cruel and high, and soon voices all around were drowning Arwen's ears in horror and causing her to shudder uncontrollably. She shrank into herself, huddling into her knees fearfully.

She was, along with Erandur, pulled to the ground, and her hands were bound. Then Arwen was tightly blindfolded and propelled forwards through the utter blackness. All she could feel apart from the hands stiff as vices on her shoulders was the rain soaking her hair and cheeks and the wind biting at her damp exposed flesh. Shouts were rebounding all around her and immediately she lost all sense of direction.

Suddenly she heard the leader's voice right next to her ear. "Keep her safe, and untouched. We will leave _the rest_ for when we arrive." Arwen trembled and the owner of the arms which lifted her onto a horse with him laughed mockingly at her.

"Are you frightened?" he whispered in her ear. He unbuckled her sword from her side and it was removed from her senses. "You are vulnerable, so do not try anything stupid." Arwen felt her throat ice up and her eyes sting. She was helpless, and she assumed that Erandur was too. Who would come to save her from this horror, when nobody knew? Would Aragorn ever know what had happened to his Undómiel, Evenstar of the night?

At this point she heard the leader calling out, referring to Aragorn himself, and her heart raced.

"You, ride to Minas Tirith, and give the King a message …hmm? Tell him, one who the king claims as his own has been discovered. They are lying at the place which the king would also like to claim as his own, but he fears it." There was some laughing, and then neighing as the rider raced off for her city, the white city of light, wherein Aragorn was awaiting her, believing her to be safe…

Arwen wondered at this message to Aragorn. She begged that he would understand and come to help her, but would he give in to these hateful people? Would he even realise it was her? And where did he fear, but claim to be his own?

The horse she was on was wild and frisky, and Arwen lurched forward as the horses charged on in a great stampede once more. She began to cry and murmur under her breath, feeling the dampness of the blindfold press against her eyelids and seeing in her vision Aragorn, once again turning to her and finding her eyes, and murmuring sadly, "Meleth, be careful." He continued to gaze at her, his beautiful eyes unknowing, torn away as he bowed his head as if in grief and resignation.

Arwen was startled at this vision. She did not know whether he somehow felt deep inside his soul the shiver of her fear, whether he shared the weight of her tears or the cold hold on her heart, when they, their hearts and fates bound together, were so very close to downfall. Would he give in to their pleas, or would he resign to the knowledge that she must die to save his people? For always, Aragorn had feared becoming king of men, they whose blood was weak, they who reminded him of his ancestor's terrible past, and now he was forced to choose between his duty and his heart.


	19. The Haunting Message

19. The Haunting Message

It was late at night and the flame torches in the bathroom had burnt down to an intense orange glow. Aragorn's wearied feet passed over the sheepskin rug as he made his way to the bowl of warm water resting on the marble table. Unbuttoning his shirt, he looked out of the window and saw the intense depth of night outside and the whiplash of rain striking the window panes. He shivered and with a shudder, glanced away.

xxxxxx

A horse galloped over the hard earth, its hooves pounding on the grassy plains. It was blind to all except the city right ahead, appearing as twinkling lights studding the great mountain. The rain was not itself visible in the black night, but it made the lights of Minas Tirith flicker like tiny candles caught in a storm. With the wet wind striking their faces, both riders cowered away from the cold bite, and pulled their cloaks tighter around them.

"How far to the gates, Legolas? I fear there is a pond forming in my left boot." The gruff voice of Gimli was nearly lost in the rushing wind.

"Not long now, I can just see the gates up ahead, but there are no lights, and they are shut, or nearly."

The elf spoke to the horse in his native tongue, and the soaked animal slowed down to a canter, before falling into a light trot. He wildly shook his head, showering even more water over the riders.

Over Gimli's cursing, Legolas was straining through the darkness, and caught sight of a movement just outside the gates. "Hush, Gimli!" He urged. "I see a shadow…"

Their horse slowed down and Legolas called out boldly. "Who's there?"

The elf and dwarf strained for a reply through the howling gale, but no cries except that of the wind met their ears.

"Maybe you mistook it, Legolas. The night is tricky even for your elf eyes," Gimli said softly, looking up at his companion.

"No," Legolas whispered. "Who's there?" he shouted again. "I can see you! Show yourself, or at least speak your name! Or I will shoot!"

Legolas' hand fell to his bow and as quick as lightning he flicked out an arrow. He squinted through the lashing rain, water filling his eyes.

"Do not fire."

A voice carried on the wind. Legolas' arrow quiver held. "Who's there?" he asked warily, their horse pawing the ground unsurely.

A shadow moved ahead, the wearer's cloak swirling above the ground.

"A bearer of a message for the King."

Legolas felt a shiver coarse down his spine at the voice. It was eerie, clear, but unearthly. His hand shook and the arrow rattled against his bow.

"Will you take the message? It is important and for the King's best interests, no doubt."

Legolas glanced down at Gimli and felt him shift beneath him. "Yes, yes, speak it."

"Tell him, one who the king claims as his own has been discovered. They are lying at the place which the king would also like to claim as his own, but he fears it."

Legolas frowned. "What is he going on about?" Gimli grumbled. "Tell him not to speak in riddles!"

"That is your message?" Legolas called out.

"Yesss," came the reply, a hiss on the wind. Their horse pulled at the reigns and stamped its feet, uncomfortable at the sound.

"Who is it from?" Gimli shouted out. "Who is sending this message? Show yourself to us!"

"I am only the bearer," was the reply.

Legolas bent close to Gimli. "He is shrinking away!" he told him under his breath. "Come back!" he yelled, fighting back the rain washing over his numbed face, ordering the horse forward. "Show yourself!"

"Just tell the message to the King," the bearer of the message answered. "Or he will suffer a great loss." The figure turned away into the darkness and was fading out of Legolas' sight. He tried to order the horse after the shadow, but the horse was unnerved and panicking, instead shrinking close to the gates of the city.

"Don't turn your back! I will shoot you!" Legolas called out. "Who is the message from?"

Legolas and Gimli heard their question carry away in the wind. There was a roar as a heavy downpour battered on the ground. It seemed that the voice spoke on the wind for the final time:

"…he will find out soon enough…"

xxxxxx

As Aragorn scooped up the hot water in his hands and splashed it in his face, he felt the warmth ease his strains and worries slightly. Again he poured water down from his forehead to his chin, where it dripped off and made swirling patterns in the bowl. Repeatedly he made this act, until his sleeves were saturated and clung to his elbows like limpets. Then he struck his hands through the air and shook his head to cast the water off and instead spray the room. Aragorn ran his hands through his hair, but for once, Arwen was not there to swoon at the attractive gesture.

Aragorn sighed and moved into the bedroom. It seemed so much larger, and emptier, without Arwen in it. The warmth of the fire didn't quite reach the whole room, and iciness was unfolding from the windows. Aragorn hurried to pull the curtains over and shield himself from the creeping sense that the darkness out there had eyes which were watching his every movement.

Then, when his eyes passed over the flagstones on the floor, Aragorn froze, and his eyes narrowed. He stared at a large, square centre stone, laid bare next to the sheepskin rug on which he was standing. Aragorn glared at the stone. He bore a sudden strange dislike for its apparent simplicity, which he could not explain for. After sending it a more menacing look, he turned away.

Just as his eyes were travelling around himself in circles, to check for any explanative strangeness, there was a hard knock on his door, and the sound of heightened voices outside.

"My lord…" the sound of a guard diffused through the thick oak door. "There are visitors…"

At the sound of an attempt to restrain the newcomers, Aragorn threw open the door.

"Gimli! Legolas!"

"My apologies, my lord, but they would not wait in the hall," the guard began. Aragorn eyed up Legolas' scornful expression and Gimli's bristling eyebrows. "They were unwilling to wait politely and I-"

"Aragorn, there is something you must know," Legolas cut over, his voice serious.

"Of course, come inside," Aragorn replied immediately.

"But, my lord…" The soldier indicated to the visitors… the large puddle at their feet, the trail leading like a stream down the hallway, the mud coating their clothing…

"That will do, sir," Aragorn said firmly, shepherding his two friends inside. "Please leave now and order dinner for two to be laid out in the hall at once."

The guard bowed low. "Of course, my lord," he said meekly, just before the door was shut in his face.

"That is one impertinent guard!" Gimli commented. "You should have him redistributed."

Aragorn gave his friend a smile, putting a hand on his low shoulder. "I will take heed of your wise words."

"I am sorry for our unexpected entrance," Legolas expressed. Aragorn noted his friend's eyes travelling down his open shirt and toned chest which was revealed, and also over his damp cheeks and hair.

"You interfered with nothing," Aragorn replied truthfully, "and you look no worse than me."

"It's just…"

"We met someone outside the city gates," Gimli explained. "They would not show themselves, but they had a message-"

"-For you," Legolas said. "I fear it greatly. It does not bode well."

"What was it?" Aragorn asked worriedly. His mind shot to Arwen, and he instantly prayed that it was not linked to her in any way.

"The one whom you would claim as your own is at the place which you would also claim as your own, but you fear to do so."

"That is a strange message," Aragorn remarked, trying to figure it out. "Who was it from?"

Gimli shook his head. "They would not say. They said that they were only the bearer, but it appeared that they were linked to those who have the one you would so call 'claim your own'."

"It was so dark, I could not see them clearly," Legolas added. "I am sorry, I tried to follow, and I threatened to shoot, but our horse was petrified by their presence, and they vanished before we knew it."

"Do not worry, mellon nín," Aragorn reassured his friend. "I understand, and thank you for the message. But…" he heaved a sigh. "Oh, I am afraid," he groaned, tearing at his hair.

There was a pause in the room before Legolas looked around and spoke. "It is Arwen, is it not? She is not here…"

Aragorn shook his head. "No, she is not here…" he sighed. "Ai! Why did I let her go?"

"Where is she, Aragorn?" growled Gimli softly.

"Dol Amroth, I thought," Aragorn recalled. "But… that is not a place I would claim as my own or fear, so she must have been captured and taken somewhere else. Ai!"

He paced back and forth helplessly, pain piercing his veins, his conscience throbbing.

"What is the place they spoke of?" asked Legolas. "If she is captured, we must find her, for the bearer of the message was not a kindly person. They were as nimble as a shadow, and their voice was unnerving and piercing."

"That fits…" Aragorn mused. "You heard about Beregond?" His friends nodded solemnly. "Yes…"

"So?"

"Ah, the place… the place I fear…" Aragorn looked up at Legolas, his eyes wide and pooled with dread. "Can you not see? Why the shadow never left, why it is still haunted, why it is the blackening on my kingdom… Ai! It is Minas Morgul… the terror of Gondor."


	20. The Hunt of the Riddles

I'm sorry that this chapter is a bit shorter than usual, and if the updates become rather irregular, I have exams coming up so time runs a bit thin... but the chapters will come!

A huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and to anyone reading this story. It means so much to me to know that other people appreciate it and I am sooo happy receiving any reviews!

20. The Hunt of the Riddles

Aragorn turned back to look at Minas Tirith. It was overwhelmed by the enveloping darkness and as he blinked the icy rain out of his straining eyes, all that was revealed through the damp mist was a hazy glow, a veil over the lights of the city.

"They have not come," he said, but his voice instantly drowned to a mere murmur on the carrying wind.

"What was that, Aragorn?" Legolas called back, his face, pale as it was against the sodden hood of his blackened cloak, barely more than a shadow ahead. "Why do we pause?"

Aragorn lifted his voice. "They have not come," he repeated. "Elladan and Elrohir. I warned them of Arwen's danger and that I may need their help to keep her safe. But they are not here."

"We cannot dwell here," Gimli barked gruffly, as a torrent of rain thundered upon the ground. "Either we go on, or we go back. This is madness."

Aragorn did not yet reply, but instead turned his gaze to the north, as if hoping to see two elven warriors materialise out of the storm. "We need them," he said wearily, "but we cannot wait. We must go on."

"Come, mellon nín," urged Legolas. "They will come, and they will find us. They will understand."

At this, Aragorn pulled his horse eastwards, and together, the two steeds galloped away into the ever worsening darkness.

xxxxxx

As they were sitting around the small camp fire, in the gathering gloom, a peculiar recollection kept taking hold of Aragorn's vision. Darkness… night in the bedroom… a silhouette rising from the floor at the foot of the bed… draining fear…

"Are you alright Aragorn? You look pale." Legolas handed him a flask of water and indicated that Aragorn should drink it.

Aragorn sighed, taking a sip. "A sleepless night does no one much good," he replied.

"Bad dreams, laddie?" asked Gimli. The King nodded.

"Unless…" There was an instant change in Aragorn; he became very still, and his mind was obviously being inspired, with lights other than the flickers of the fire gleaming in his eyes.

After a silence, he beheld his three friends, and said calmly, "I think I have found the Lost Again Stair."

The others looked back at him.

"That's a funny name," said Legolas, with a smile. "It reminds me of the-"

"-Lost Stair?" put in Aragorn. Legolas stared at him. "Funny that it should be the same stair. I had guessed that you would know it as that, for you have lived long enough to hear its earlier name." Now he turned to Gimli. "And you, you should know it simply as the Stair."

"I know _the_ Stair," said Gimli. "One of the greatest secrets of the mountains, the greatest cunning in the smallest space, the oldest staircase built underground; save for the Winding Stair." Aragorn nodded.

"The realm of Men know it as the Lost Again Stair," Aragorn told them. "It has been lost for so long, indeed most believe that it is legend."

"Of course it is not legend!" Gimli broke out thunderously.

"Then what is it?" asked Legolas. "How did it come to have so many names?"

"It is a secret stairway in Minas Tirith, running from the base of the city, in the bottom level, right up to the citadel, supposedly at the base of the Tower of Ecthelion. It cuts through the mountain itself, behind all the buildings on all levels of the city. It is said that pinpricks in the stone light its steps, but the gaps are so small that no one alive has ever seen into it.

"It was first made when the city was built, as a passage for escape for the King of Gondor. I believe a small band of dwarves took hand to this task, and were paid greatly for their integrity." At this point Gimli grunted in agreement. "But, when Isildur died, he had not yet passed on its keeping to any relative."

"Thus it became the Lost Stair," murmured Legolas.

"And then it was forgotten by men. Thus, when rumours finally broke out about a hidden stairway, it was called the Lost Again Stair, for it had been lost from men's memories too. But it was said that only an elf could find it, for such was the brilliance of the dwarves that no man could see where its entrances were, since the eyes of men were not as sharp as those of the elves. And for years, elves did not visit the city. Thus it remained still lost."

"So how did you find it?" Legolas asked his friend, wondering whether Arwen's elven eyes had played some part.

"I thought it was a dream, but… it was at night, yesterday, and I awoke from troubled sleep to a feeling of dread… I could not take Arwen off my mind. As I sat up, I saw in front of me, at the end of the bed, a slab of stone lift up and fold back, and then, a silhouette arose, a figure in black, hooded and cloaked. At first I wondered if I was still dreaming of Arwen, but the sense of horror was so intense that, grappling for Andúril which lay by my bedside, I spoke out 'Depart from me, Shadow!' and the figure looked around, and then descended, and I fell faint, back into an uneasy sleep. By morning, I had forgotten. But I had a peculiar misgiving for the stone which I could not account for."

"Interesting," muttered Gimli, eying up the King as if he might be mad.

"So it is," commented Legolas, "seeing as it is thought that only one of the firstborn could see the light which leads them to that place, and yet you Aragorn could…"

Aragorn raised his hand. "_What_ did you just say?" He said abruptly. "Did you just say 'the firstborn light'?"

Legolas' eyes flew to Gimli's. He inclined his head.

"Then…" In a flurry Aragorn rummaged around in his pockets and brought out a piece of parchment.

Gimli bent forward and frowned at the incomprehensible elvish writing. "_The first-born light turned by the second shadow into darkness and fire_," Legolas read aloud.

"This was the note from Faramir, before he disappeared," Aragorn told him. "The _first-born light_ must indeed mean the elves; it is just as you spoke."

"Well," barked Gimli gruffly as Legolas nodded. "That is all well and good, but only if you know what the _second shadow_ is, otherwise all we have is a useless note about some pointy-eared dainty-stepping people." Legolas' eyes fell on his friend, scathing.

"It is quite simple what the second shadow is," the elf retorted, elbowing the dwarf out of the way. "Aragorn, it is Sauron, as opposed to Morgoth, the first shadow."

Aragorn nodded, deep in thought. "Sauron always wished to take in the elves," he murmured, "but we never believed he succeeded."

"My father Thranduil and Lord Elrond used to fear that this had happened," Legolas continued, "for the elves have such great powers. But if indeed they are anything like Morgoth's creations, the orcs, they will be lovers of night, and haters of the day."

"It is still night now," Gimli noted. "Quick, let us continue. The darkness has many eyes, which we do not know of. We could definitely outride them, but not outrun them; especially not all the way to the Window on the West."

xxxxxx

The three riders had long passed over the Anduin at Osgiliath, and for the recent hours before dawn they had now been travelling through the dripping woodland of Ithilien. The trees were still draining off their bucket loads of water from their bowed branches following the heavy downpour a night ago, and unfortunately for the party of three, they were now the objects on which the rainwater was now collecting.

"It is this way," called Legolas, tightening the reigns and leading his horse through the thinning undergrowth and down a small rocky path. The plan was to camp out and shortly rest by the Forbidden Pool, or Henneth Annûn. Dawn was approaching and despite Aragorn's protests, Legolas as well as Gimli had persuaded him that it was far better to recuperate strength and await the brethren's arrival before proceeding. They knew how to find the hidden cave because Aragorn and Faramir were close friends and he had often visited there, even in his ranger days. Legolas had also been there, with Gimli, while organising the growth of the Ithilien woods and coming of elves with the Steward's friends.

Not long later, in the sound of the clamouring river, they slipped in among some great rocks down a stony path. Just as the sun rose into the watery sky, having left their horses behind they edged along a narrow ledge blanketed in cold, and then they broke through a small archway into the rapidly expanding cave. Gimli's footsteps proceeding into its centre grew more echoic in the vast space, tinny in the way they resounded over the roar of the waterfall which veiled the Window on the West. Legolas' eyes roved around the cave while Aragorn gazed at the threads of water which composed the ever-running curtain, glowing faintly white in the early morning.

Suddenly Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli heard a voice from behind. "You have found me." They turned.


	21. Pulling Back the Curtain

21. Pulling Back the Curtain

The man lifted back his hood and his overcast face was revealed to them.

"Faramir! Mellon nín…" Aragorn raced forward to embrace his friend and steward. "Thank the Valar you are safe."

Faramir did not look nearly as relieved or anxious as the King and instead smiled placidly. "Does being a Ranger not teach you some things which remain with you forever?" he said light-heartedly; now Aragorn smiled. "Come," Faramir gestured to the table and benches, as if he was merely showing guests into his home, "sit, and let us confer what we know." At this, despite his genuine appearance, Aragorn and his two companions discerned that there was a more underlying sense of significance pressing him, and Faramir's intentional calmness helped to soothe Aragorn's tense nerves, if none other's, and he was glad.

They had barely settled down awkwardly, Legolas raising his eyebrows at such everyday behaviour from Faramir, when they were in a situation anything _but_ everyday, when suddenly they heard a commotion coming from behind the passageway in distorted echoes; and all four leapt up again as abruptly as fireworks, as if they found this far more to their nature. A clamour of voices could be heard progressing into an argument as it increased in volume just as if someone was speaking progressively more irately into a deaf old woman's echoic ear-trumpet.

"I still think it madness to abandon our horses outside," said a man's voice tersely.

"Faramir managed to cope for years, so I do not see why you cannot either," replied a woman in slightly sarcastic tones, her voice singing back inescapably over the other's off the rock walls.

"Of course I can cope, Éowyn! I just do not want to risk losing my companion of whom I have great need… unlike some _other_ people; I am not reckless like-"

With his thoughts chased by reverberations of his own words King Éomer of Rohan clad in his full battle attire broke off as he strode straight through the doorway and his eyes fell on the company standing there, weapons at the ready, at him. Then his sister Éowyn's face appeared peeping behind his shoulder, her eyes darting round.

"Faramir…!" she rushed forward and her husband embraced her in his arms. The shield-maiden of Rohan wept with her face buried in his neck and there were tears mirrored too in Faramir's eyes. Her sighs, slightly muffled, trembled poignantly in the air.

"All is well," sighed Éomer, thankfully removing his plumed helmet, "it is as I had hoped." Faramir's moved expression, where his eyes betrayed the love and heartfelt sorrow he felt within, did not fade.

"Why are you here?" Éowyn whispered, gazing up into Faramir's eyes; then she looked round at the King, the elf, and the dwarf, and posed the question to them too.

"Why are you here?" Aragorn quizzed her back, and she smiled faintly. She opened her mouth as if remembering something to tell him, but then her husband spoke.

"It… it may be easier if we all sit down," Faramir suggested once more. Éomer eyed up his brother-in-law slightly peculiarly, one arm around his helmet, but he followed the others' example. The six of them obediently sat down on the benches, making rustling and clinking noises due to all their weaponry and armour. It was after all Faramir's hideout, and so they could hardly be impolite.

"We thought that you had been taken along with Beregond," Éomer said, leaning forward, a serious note in his voice. "My sister was greatly distressed, as you can imagine, and I travelled to Ithilien in order to comfort her, and offer her my aid."

Faramir shook his head. "Fortuitously, I was not! However it was a very close call." He turned to Aragorn with need, eyes only for him, leaning on his elbow. "In the night, I could not sleep, since I was wondering about the water which your Lady Arwen had asked for, and I could not help but try to understand why the seas had split the land. And so, unable to fathom why the Valar would do this, I took a walk and left the camp, and took to wandering down to the shore. But just as I looked back, I saw a flock of shadows descending on my tent, where I had been only a minute before. There was a tree just by my path and I quickly hid behind it. From there, I watched in secret, and I knew then… that they were the same who had taken Beregond."

"Who were they?" Gimli asked softly.

"It was in the riddle you left," Legolas answered for him, glancing down at his friend the dwarf.

"Yes," Faramir smiled, grimly but quite delighted that his riddle had been read at least. "I knew that they would lie in wait for me nearby, so I could not stay; yet I knew I must try to warn you of the danger present, without being caught. Thus I wrote that cryptic note and, straight after the attackers had drawn away, I left it in my tent and hurriedly stole away on my horse. They did not see; at least, not then."

Éowyn's face was emotionless, but her voice was unusually bodiless and empty. "Did they find you?"

Faramir looked at her, and his soft brown eyes were reassuring. "I know the woodlands of Ithilien far better than any other alive. I journeyed south and I have been living here in my old cave, for it is impossible to find, unless I have shown you where it is! I saw them at a distance several times among the woods in this area, but not for the last week or so. They drew away, and it was then that I feared no longer for my safety, but for another's."

As he said this his eyes locked onto Aragorn's meaningfully, in order to search for conformation. Aragorn's eyes flickered and he glanced away, fidgeting and suddenly on edge. Faramir sighed downheartedly as if a leaden mountain rested on his chest and his eyes dropped downcast.

"Ai, it was not your fault, Faramir," said Legolas. "You did all you could. But please," he put a hand on the Steward's shoulder and the man looked up under the elf's power, "tell us about these people who appear like shadows, and come and go without a trace. In my heart, I think I understand; but I cannot believe." The elf's eyes darkened and an expression of sorrow clouded his fair face.

"It is a truth I would not have any of us face, let alone one of your people," murmured Faramir sadly. "The Dark Lord corrupted many hearts, but the elves always saw through him, and recognised his desire for absolute power. Yet alas! for it has been revealed before my eyes that not all of the first-born escaped his wicked nets, and indeed they are his most dangerous followers – for they do not only serve him, but he lives within them.

"Their eyes burn with his spirit, the very piercing flames of the inescapable Great Eye. Sauron bound himself to the ring, and yet he could just about survive without its possession, weak in strength and only in this form, and still he wielded the great powers of intimidation and domination which nearly sundered Middle-Earth. And so with the Ring destroyed, Sauron is gone, and yet a part of his spirit remains, the part that could survive without the Ring; the part which lives on now in them.

"In my message, I mentioned the first-born light, and by that I meant the elves." Aragorn nodded knowingly. "The corruption of the second shadow is an expression of how Sauron ensnared the elves: just as Morgoth made orcs from elves, here Sauron has used elves for his own purposes. Now, they are beings of shadows and fire: Sauron's cunning is made clear. They still have their skill of the elves, and so move silently, quickly, lightly, out of sight, just like shadows of the night, but their eyes burn with his spirit, and they long for power above all else."

Faramir fell silent for a while.

"It is so sad…" murmured a voice. Their eyes flew round and suddenly saw a tall dark elf silhouetted by the white waterfall with a hand over his eyes.

"Elladan…" Legolas instantly drew near to embrace his friend, and his brother who was standing just behind him. Entombed deep in thought, the two elves' presence had escaped even Legolas' realisation.

"How did you find us?" exclaimed Aragorn, embracing his wearied friends in a slightly more overt manner by throwing his arms around each of the brethren in turn, and greeting them in elvish.

"Our sister's horse found us, she was in distress. She led us to where five other horses were waiting, moving in front of a path's entrance, and we followed it inside," Elrohir explained.

"Arwen's horse?" breathed Aragorn. His head snapped round at Éowyn's voice.

"She came to our house, where Éomer and I were talking. She disturbed us and seemed urgent for us to follow her. As soon as I realised it was Ninniach, we fled after her, and she led us here, to you."

As if his strength weakened, Aragorn hung his head despondently, like an exhausted horse after a life-long journey in vain. Legolas rested his hand comfortingly on his friend's shoulder.

"So it has happened…" Elrohir murmured. His brother looked on the edge of tears. "They have taken her, they have taken Arwen."

At this conformation in words Aragorn gave out a wailing cry and collapsed onto his knees. "It is all my fault," he said in a soft wounded voice, his body shaking as the grief took over his heart. "I did not look after her."

"No…"

The others descended around him, trying to pull him to his feet, attempting to show him that he had done everything he could, but Aragorn cried out as if struck to the heart.

"After everything I've been through, all the long years of trial – suffering, fighting, hopelessness – our time finally came, once we had both endured terrible sacrifices, both come so close to death… Arwen gave up her immortality for me… and _I_ let all that go! I would risk all that and send her back to the Shadow!" Aragorn wept like an injured animal and silver tears streamed down his cheeks. "My Evenstar…" he whispered. "She is fading… into the everlasting shadow…" He froze as if his eyes were seeing it happen that very moment, materialising out of his fear and taking on tangible presence.

"No!" yelled Elladan. "Estel! Stop… tolo!" He pulled Aragorn by the shoulders and with his hand on his heart he looked him straight in the eyes. "No! We will not let her die! I will not let her die! I cannot bear the weight of the eternal loss of one whom I love."

"Not one…" Legolas murmured.

Elladan frowned enquiringly. "She is pregnant," Aragorn said, barely above a breath, through eyes shrouded in a misty glaze. On hearing this Elladan weakly moved aside. Elrohir shaded his eyes. A terrible grief descended upon the two elves, for so dear were all elf children, but even more the love for their sister and her unborn baby, now only just discovered by them, but both at that very moment so nearly lost, forever.

"The kingdom of Gondor will fall if the line of kings fails once more," muttered Faramir and he shook his head tiredly.

Éomer bowed his head. "This Shadow from Minas Morgul will overrun the lands if it is not held back now. Their very presence sets unease in my heart, and if our people knew, they would despair."

"What are we to do?" asked Gimli, looking at Legolas. But for once, the elf was answerless.

Elrohir gave a groan. "Would that I could have my Ada's counsel in this cruel situation; we had suspected that there may be some Dark Elves under the spell of Sauron, but we could never quite believe that they truly lived. What can one do against such powers? For the elves are skilled beyond all other beings, and if their powers have remained and are now being used for evil purposes, what can we do against that? Such cunning, elusion, desire… they are like Sauron himself, as he walked through Middle-Earth in the Second Age, longing to win over the elves."

"Arwen is now in the hands of such shadow… her fate has taken a cruel turn, and her life could become more bitter than we ever foresaw… even bringing down others' to ruin too. Her life is now forfeit for some other evil, I am certain. Such is the way of the Dark Elves, where their wisdom has turned to scheming ploys. They are heartless, and only want power: they are embodiments of the Dark Lord; and they now have Arwen amongst them!" Elladan muttered something in elvish and Elrohir made a grimace.

Their thoughts swirled around, and the atmosphere was tense, even fearful. Yet at last, it was Lady Éowyn to break the silence.

"You once told me," kneeling before Aragorn she murmured to him, "while there are still those who love you, hope is not lost."

He looked into her eyes.

"Tiro, estel e edain," Legolas called him softly.

Aragorn sighed, the amorous breath of a lover shivering in the cool air of heavy rooted fear which he bears for the other who carries his heart. "There is always hope," he echoed slowly. Then his fingers closed around his sword hilt. "_Yes_…" The King's grey eyes flashed open and he jumped up, and in one movement they all drew their weapons. "We will not abandon hope, while there are those who still fight for peace in these lands, for those who still live in hope of days to come! We shall bring everlasting light to Middle-Earth, and fight to save those we love."

"Come," said Elrohir, "let us go now, and rid Middle-Earth of this shadow."

"No," cried Faramir, as Éomer, who had been putting on his helmet, paused mid-way. "They hate the day; we will never find them. They will hide until they can resume their journey to their lair."

"They cannot have ridden all the way to Minas Morgul before daylight," mused Gimli.

Legolas agreed. "Let us wait until sunset; then we ride."

Gimli bellowed a war-cry of approval. "Argghh! Yes!" And he swung his axe round joyfully, nearly cutting Éomer in the stomach, so that he all but dropped his helmet.

"To free Middle-Earth!" claimed Elladan, his eyes glinting along with his brother's and Legolas'.

"To save our people!" shouted Faramir, raising his sword with Éomer and Éowyn.

But Aragorn whispered, so quietly that no other could hear. "To light the Evenstar… meleth nín."


	22. Victims to Love

I am sorry if there is a gap between now and my next update, I am going away for a week to Rome, but I will try to write whenever I can! Until then, I hope you enjoy (not sure if that is quite the right word!) reading this chapter...

22. Victims to Love

Weariness like she had never known burdened Arwen's body like weighty iron chains. She came round to herself just when the faint morning light was beginning to struggle in its efforts to diffuse through the thick blindfold wrapped over her eyes. After an immeasurable time lost in that darkness, she had been cast into an uneasy sleep, never quite at rest because of the presence of the rider behind, above and around her, swamping her with a fear that was not wholly natural. On feeling the feeblest rays of sun, her dreams, or perhaps her slow and uncontrolled thoughts, drifted to Aragorn. She wondered if she tried to talk to him whether he would hear her. But even if he could, it would have been of no use. If he had asked her where she was, she could not have said.

Now the constant discomfort of the horse ceased quite suddenly and through Arwen's drowsiness the lack of rocking caused her usually perfect sense of balance to be disrupted. All around she could hear movements of other riders dismounting but they were amplified and brusque like sharp crackling claps in her ears. She could not make up her mind whether the tangled dreams of hopelessness had been better than this unpleasant and uncontrollable reality.

The rider put his hands around her and she was lifted down, but at the same time there was a distasteful hissing, just like a fire angry with the water thrown on it, as if the rider could not bear to touch her and was scalded. After this he was more resentful in his acts towards her; she was brusquely marched somewhere, downhill and into a place where an enveloping chill poured around her like a cold wet blanket. The thin sunlight which had just fallen on her eyes, a gentle welcome touch, a reminiscence of hope, now vanished in a snap – the pale dusk merged once more into inescapable blackness. Arwen shivered in the enveloping cool air, tripping over the unseen stones and root tendrils, but compelled forward in the difficult descent ever faster by the malevolent rider.

Then, when she was on the brink of falling over in despair, her guard grabbed her wrist, and in a scolding tone commanded her to stay where she was - as if she had been hurrying onwards of her own accord against his will! - and she was carelessly pushed down onto the ground. It was damp and rocky; she could feel the dirt and grit pressing into her soft palms, and the condensation was seeping unwelcomingly through her cloak and dress.

But then she was abandoned; alone in shadow. Bizarrely, this felt perhaps even more unnerving than before – now she had no idea what was happening, or what terrible deed was await her on their return. She swallowed nervously, or tried to, but her throat was thick and her mouth parched. The pain was too much and at first her assumption laid the blame on having been fed poisoned liquor in her sleep, but soon she banished the thought. Any liquid would have wetted her dry lips, which were now quite dry. Her throat was seized up, and any cries for water would have never left her soundless lips.

All she could do was to listen. There was the noise of a great many people in a small echoic place, and their harsh speech reverberated and fell back on her ears disturbingly. Even worse was that her sight was not totally blocked out – for it seemed, just as elves appear to other beings like shining white figures when all other senses are lost – that shapes were moving around Arwen, shapes in which shadows darker than the depths of the earth lurked, sucking in all light, and yet their heads were crowned with wreaths of red fire, and their eyes gleamed with glowing coals from set within blackened drawn faces. And just like how this sense of elves arouses strength, hope and an awe of beauty in the beholder, oppositely these presences of drowning shadow and blinding flame inspired dread in Arwen as she beheld them, unable to flee for even a moment; the sensitivities of spirits with which the elves were so in tune with was in this hellish place a curse.

However, amidst the steely voices which turned her blood to ice in her very veins, and through the heavy stamping of the horses hooves aggressively on the earth, as her elven hearing sharpened and picked out more detail, she now became aware of other voices, those which did not belong to the cold-hearted shadows which had carried her away. There were muffled whispers whose timidity mirrored her own feelings inside and betrayed their fear of the same captors. Her elven ears discerned that they were not far away, amongst all the rustling and echoic noises which reverberated in the cold chamber they were confined to. Suddenly, she felt something knock into her arm, and Arwen started, until she realised that the object was something warm and of the pleasant feel of flesh.

"Ah! Sorry!" said a voice in surprise. It was a man, and she could tell from how he moved that he was bound like her. He paused, listening to her frenzied breathing, as if trying to work out if she was a captor or captive, and having decided he said softly, "Do you want some help?"

Instantly Arwen had realised he was not Erandur but another helpless victim. She wondered where he was, the Ranger who had tried to save her and been trapped himself. Perhaps, if she could remove her blindfold, she would be able to see him and learn if he was safe.

"Could you untie my blindfold, please?" Arwen whispered, frightened. She felt a cluster of fingers searching over her head and fumbling with the cloth. After a moment the cloth slipped down her nose and she was able to pull it away with her shoulder. "Thank you."

At first, she wondered if the blindfold had been removed at all, but then her eyes grew more accustomed to the situation and she saw a watery light descending from where they must have entered; since all else was in darkness, she supposed that they were in a small cave or at least a hollow. There were silhouettes slipping in and out, flickering over the shaft of light and passing to and fro through the nightshade locked forever underground, but though none were far away, none were close by enough to notice the escape of Arwen's blue eyes.

The man next to her in the gloom was not too old, about ten years older than Erandur had been. He did not have a blindfold, or rather, it was hanging around his neck. He had similar length hair and she could pick out no more detail than that. His eyes were not on her; she realised that the eyes of men would struggle in such darkness.

"Who are you?" she asked him softly.

"I am just an ordinary man of Dol Amroth," he said, slightly indignantly as if he was speaking to one of his captors, demanding why he had been taken when he was of no significance. At her voice his eyes moved nearer to where she sat, but could still not quite meet her own. "I have been taken captive by these people, like you."

Arwen was perplexed. "But why did they take you?"

"My wife had vanished. I saw them come, one evening, as she was out in the garden fetching water from the well; silhouettes against the reddening sea. I vowed to rescue her, for they seemed heartless and stole away into the darkness without any word. I knew the danger, so I sent my son to Minas Tirith for safety. I spent endless days in the lands between my home, the Mountains of Shadow and the White City, but all of a sudden, they caught me unawares. I felt a fool, as if I had been watched, and I was easily ensnared too."

Arwen froze, with inspiration suddenly dawning on her mind. She had heard this story before, camouflaged behind a father's explanation. A mother missing, a father sending his son to Minas Tirith… "Your son…" Arwen asked, intrigued, "is he called Celros?"

The man stiffened. "You know my son?" he murmured, a catch in his voice.

Arwen smiled, despite her reassurance being lost to the darkness. "Yes, I found him! I led him back to Dol Amroth. Do not fear; he is in the safety of the Prince."

"Imrahil?" the man gasped.

"Yes, he is happy there."

The man paused. "But who are you, then? For one who has the ability to influence the Prince must surely be high. And yet you are from the White City, while your voice is not so. I cannot guess… tell me your name."

Arwen hitched a breath. "I am… Arwen Undómiel, the wife of Aragorn Elessar."

The man verily leapt out of his skin and shook himself from his startled state.

"Bless the Valar! Please, pardon me. I am forever in your debt for what you have done for my son."

"It… was not out of my way," she replied in a hushed voice, urging him to be of softer voice too.

"But… oh…" his voice changed. "Now I see…"

"What do you see?" Arwen questioned him.

"My wife was captured and for some inexplicable reason ordered to act as a spy, a servant in the King's palace. But she was adamant that she would not deceive you and Elessar. In spite they then captured me, as punishment for her refusal. Now I understand why you are here too, but I could not fathom out the underlying reason."

Arwen paused, and then said, "Where is she now? …your wife?"

"She is here, too, but she is weak. They have not given her much water, and thus she is quite ill. She is so parched that she cannot speak to me."

Arwen was stunned. Her heart thumped in her chest. They would not let someone die of thirst, would they? Anxiously she moved her own tongue around her mouth and felt how swollen and dry it was, and a searing longing to drink water bore down on her.

As this was vexing Arwen she saw some movement from behind the man, and another figure crawled into view, walking on his elbows.

"Arwen? Is that you? Are you well?"

A wonderful feeling of relief swept over her. "Yes! Erandur… I am thankful that you are well. I am so sorry for what has happened to you." Tears of guilt sprang into her eyes and wrung her throat.

"There is no need to apologise," the man sighed, awkwardly sitting beside her and the other man. "What I did was out of my own will, and at least if I am here, you may have some protection, however small it may be." The Ranger gave a soft laugh. "Ah, well, you are not alone."

"Wait," the other man said, "speak your name again."

The Ranger glanced round. "Erandur…" he said unsurely.

Arwen saw the other man bow his head. "And, do you live in Dol Amroth?"

"I do not," Erandur sighed, "my home has long been elsewhere."

"Where are we now?" Arwen asked. She knew that Celros' father was a messenger, so she believed that he would have a good sense of direction and knowledge of the lands they had travelled through.

"We are somewhere in North Ithilien," the man replied quietly. "They do not travel by road, but then in the days of Sauron it was dangerous to do so, and thus I know the woodland paths too."

Faramir sprung to her mind, for she was reminded of Henneth Annûn which was located within these trees nearby. She wondered where he was, and if he might be able to help her if he was safe.

"Do you know if the Steward Faramir has been captured too?" Arwen asked.

"Nay, he has not," Celros' father replied. "At least, not unless he has walked into Minas Morgul itself. But I know that there Beregond is held, for I have heard them speaking of him, and indeed what awaits us all there in their stronghold."

Arwen's blue eyes widened. A horror swelled within and she understood now why the shadow worse than the corrupting stench of death still dwelled and lurked in the mountains, and why even though the Lord of the Nazgûl had been killed, a presence still held its vice on the once beautiful city, now a sight to bring terror and madness.

She could not comprehend these shadows that were taking her there. She had never solved Faramir's riddle, and knew not of any clue save that they were not men, nor dwarves, and certainly not like any elf, for their souls were blackened with mercilessness and their minds were full of cruelty and deception. Their very presence was like a breath of the noisome fumes of the Morgul vale and what they could do – what they were planning to do – made Arwen shake in fear.

At the name of the dwelling of their captors Erandur sat bolt upright. "Arwen, you must try to escape," he urged as soon as he had heard this. "Quick, while you have the chance, before we are forever trapped in the tomb of Minas Morgul! Not would I put one toe on that gleaming stone there, not even for a successive lifetime of peace. The place is altogether evil, and aims only to corrupt and enslave any being yet with a good spirit while inflicting them with as much pain as it can exact without the relief of death."

Arwen was about to assent when something occurred to her and she fell silent for a moment. On reflecting over what she would do if she did break free, she realised she did not know where to go – she knew where Faramir's cave was, but not where it was from here. There were no people living here yet; the elves were about to come any time now. And she would never make it by foot to Osgiliath.

Erandur seemed to sense her lethargic passivity.

"Remember who you are," he said softly, "remember who you will be in the future."

"That future is almost lost," Arwen whispered.

"It is not hopeless, Arwen. You will find a way."

Suddenly she sensed some movement within her, and all thoughts of Aragorn and his child swam around her. How could she assign herself, his heart and his hope, to death? For if she was living for only one thing now, it was for Aragorn; and could she bear the weight of his ruined life, walking the Halls of Mandos haunted by this horror, plagued by the sickening guilt she had brought upon herself and everything she loved?

Yet even if she was to go, there were others who were being left behind, others who were suffering, because of her, because of Aragorn. They too were being held captive. Who was she to lay her life above theirs?

"Not without you," Arwen hissed. "Please, come too."

The Ranger shook his head. "I can't. None of us can."

"He is right, my lady," the other man said solemnly. "It is you who should go. I would stay, to whatever end, by my wife."

"I will cause a distraction," Erandur said, his voice rising to dangerously audible levels. "Go."

"No," Arwen said worriedly, urgently reaching out for him with her joined hands. "No, I cannot ask you to do this for me!"

"Then I shall choose it for myself!" Erandur hissed. "Go, Arwen, go! Let your cloak shroud you in the night until you are safe from these shadows in the daylight."

Tears filled Arwen's throat. "I will come back; I will get help for you." Her words could hardly be heard, they were filled with such emotional thanks.

Erandur felt for her hands and lightly kissed one. "I trust your words… but I ask only for you to save yourself, to not risk anything for me."

Arwen did not reply, but slowly rose. She heard movements as the Ranger climbed to his feet as well.

"Go…"

The elf closed her eyes, inside collapsing and weeping with tears of all forms of grief - sorrow, fear, guilt - but she knew that in her hopelessness, she was the light of so many others' hope. Arwen turned and leapt off into the shadows.

Her feet were silent as they passed over the stone and none noticed her presence as she slipped past. The twilight cloak held true to its power, concealing her white face as her two slender but bound hands pulled down the long hood. Arwen remembered her sword, and a pang of regret instantly swept over her.

But behind, she could already hear some shouting.

"Oi, you! How dare you do that!"

It was Erandur, she could hear him wrestling with the other man; all of a sudden a wave of their captors swept around Arwen and the black tide surged back down to where the captives were disputing. Panic juddered through her limbs; for she could hardly move, there were so many people around her, and they were so close, so close to touching her and discovering her secret location.

But somehow, she managed to pull through, to climb out and to reach the opening of the hollow, where the rebounding angry shouts and chill voices were not so impending. Four guards stood there, four shadows locked in position, like a fence between worlds. They were silhouetted against the sunlight, she could see it falling on the bare branches of a beech tree just feet away, she could see how it glistened on the damp rusty leaves and shone on the polished pebbles. The scent of woodland caught her nose and intoxicated her body. She had to break out.

Arwen shrank to the lowering wall, edging closer, with each tiny step fearing to draw towards the guards, but willing herself forwards. They all face inwards, their eyes burning with red flames staring down at the terrible commotion, unblinking. The sight petrified her, but Arwen came to the side of one of these guards without any sign of being noticed. She paused, standing there, waiting.

Arm to arm they were, linked across like a thick steel chain studded with shards and blazes of fire. There was only a chink of sunlight cutting through between the cloaked body of this nearest guard and the tumbling rock wall. There was more hope, if such a word could be its name, by daringly slipping through the gap between the next two guards.

Inhaling deeply, Arwen tiptoed forward, crouching under the stern gaze of the burning eyes. She could not help constantly worrying about her twilight cloak, having thoughts confounding her purpose, bombarding her mind and reminding her about her foot, her hands, her neck, her shoulder – were they all hidden? Was there a thread showing, or a tiny patch of flesh caught in the light? But now she was so close, to adjust her cloak would be to fail her dash for freedom. It would be to fail Erandur and Celros' father; it would be to fail Aragorn.

Slowly, ever so slowly she leant down and bent her head under their arms. She could hear her heart drumming in her ears, and thought that surely they could hear it too. Their low breaths were brushing past her ears, but no curses or quick commands.

She pulled her upper body through the thin gap. Now she was nearly through, and on catching sight out of the corner of her perceptive eyes a small bluetit hopping along a hollow branch of the dead tree, Arwen's mind was filled with memories of her woodland home and instinctively stepped through out of the cold shade.

But then, something went very wrong. For at the critical moment one of the guards shifted slightly, closing up the gap, and Arwen's smooth round abdomen was pressed against his body. Instantly a piercing fire seared through her skin deep into her flesh where they touched, a sense of horrific dread penetrating to her very heart and stirring the child within her, so painful that Arwen could not resist a cry.

They knew; the guard shuddered at the touch of such a pure being, the Evenstar of the elves. The other guards of the shadow sprang to life and, as the blistered one cursed his pain, they glanced round and leapt forward to catch Arwen. Within moments, she was running for her life.

In the bright light of the sun, clear in a winter's sky, Arwen's twilight cloak shone like liquid silver. Flashing she darted in and out of the trees, her body twisting like a sinuous water-smooth otter gleaming with wetness, but unlike the animal she was struggling to breathe under the confinement of her hood; it flew back in the wind, but the cold air chilled her throat, and her gasps were desperate for water, any water, even a drop. They were so close behind; her elven footsteps could not save her now. The strain of her child was too much, the weight of her love proved to be her one great weakness…

Shadows flicked around, first on one side, then on the other, like the forms of great fish caught sight of under cloudy waves. They reminded her of the Black Riders, since the terrible dread of what was to come was inescapable, as if she had swum into a polluted lake where ebbing weeds reached out to grasp at her ankles. She veered off in an attempt to escape, only to head into a black body; she ran back, to find the way cut off by another; she turned left, and then right; but she was enclosed.

Like a startled deer trapped by hunters, she wheeled around unsteadily, overwhelmed by her pounding heart and the exhaustion dissolving her limbs. She was trembling uncontrollably, and the next moment she found herself sinking to the ground, scattering the dry dead leaves. Her vision became obscured by the black figures, towering above her as threatening storm clouds on the brink of eruption. In fear she shrank back and unable to breathe, with all her resilience left, she held her harmless hands over her stomach, her sole thought being that if she paid the price with pain, then Aragorn's child, the hope of his future, the light of his love, should be safe, and she would willingly take this with all her heart.


	23. The Spilling of Whose Blood?

I am very sorry for the delay in my updating... this was a most troublesome chapter. It took a long time writing (that is very hard to do when you have been walking 18km round Rome everyday in the searing heat and collapse into sleep whenever you have a spare moment). It was even so unruly that it has now grown in length too! But I am very grateful for your endless patience and perserverance with reading the progressingly long chapters. Here's an update (finally) - in time for my birthday tomorrow... yay! So I hope you like it and let me know what you think afterwards!

23. The Spilling of Whose Blood?

Like a small boat seesawing on the open surging sea Arwen was struggling to hold onto consciousness in the cruel world and fearfully take the needed breaths. Fogs thick with coldness and tears of terror hindered her ability to see, but the low sound of rumbling voices rebounded in her ears. Quite suddenly there was a seething hiss as of sand drawn back by a wave and a hand gloved in black was outlined against the pale sky, raised high as if to strike, hard and fast as a poisonous snake having been angered. She shied away, shielding her eyes, urging the life inside her to not let go, whatever was to come.

Yet nothing touched her, through those indeterminably long seconds in which a sickening vapour bled through her body and fingered round her pulsing heart. Waiting, still unable to disbelieve, it was only on hearing words she could understand that Arwen ventured to look once more.

"Daro! No, stop!" Another had restrained the arm of the one about to beat her. The black figure snapped round feverishly. "Why? She has till hence always attempted to divide herself from us; she has defiled herself with that filth who names himself king of these lands."

There were cold murmurings of agreement and the ring of darkness tightened around Arwen. But the first voice spoke again sternly. "I do not say it is undeserved. More that it has been commanded to wait until our return this evening; wisely, for there a more just punishment can be dealt for her irrevocable crimes."

The body of him about to strike relaxed somewhat and as he turned his gaze upon her Arwen sensed a smile within the shadow of his hood. "Let us inform our Master of this recent disobedience, that it might be matched in high punishment later."

Bodiless laughs rang all around, lacking in heart or any warmth. Arwen heeded not the foreboding of punishment, but now gently asked of another matter spoken of. "Please tell me, what crimes have I committed against you, in the hope that I may understand and redeem those injuries which I have caused to others."

As she spoke, she was pulled to her feet, and at that moment the sun broke through the branches of the trees and encircled her shining raven hair with a crown of golden light. It washed her face so that all tear stains and weariness melted away; instead love and something of a union between her and those who beheld her was felt and reflected in her fair complexion.

They did not speak, but their eyes remained on the elf before them. The radiance from her filled their hoods and illuminated their own faces; appearances and mannerisms likened to her own elven race. For a moment, their flaming eyes were dimmed, as if put to shame by the light of Arwen. They seemed entranced by the glimmer in her bright blue eyes and her movements when she motioned with her joined hands, tracing the outline of one of their ears while pulling back with the other hand the hair covering her own.

"Even the wise could not comprehend your choice, brothers," Arwen whispered, "but now I see the pain which has led you down this path." She held her breath, stunned at the elves in front of her, for they were elves no longer – their beauty was only in terror, their faces were not full of colour but black and white, their eyes were not warm and understanding bright wells of depth but fathomless pits of utter darkness and blazing flames of hatred and lust for power.

Those slender hands were not used for caresses or healing, but weapon handling and stringing round necks, those ears would not listen to fair music or the sighing of wind through the trees, but cruel voices and screams of tortured victims at their feet, those slight bodies were not taken to dancing or running over meads, but slipping in and out of shadows and spying on others, those feet shod in black shoes did not splash through tinkling streams or over leafy forest floors, but over cold stone and the crushed skeletons of the dead. The guardians of life for all beings were now the desirers of death for all others – no more were their souls fair and white and shining like a brilliant star, now they were blackened and bloodied and corrupted. Such purity was now distorted into malice – the ability to perceive what once was and had now chosen to become was so terrible that it disturbed any who should behold them – and most of all, another elf, a kin.

The silence became tense. The entrancement was broken. "That pain was caused by you and your unfaithful people," one of the Dark Elves frigidly replied to Arwen. "Do not dare to call us your brothers. You have sundered your path from ours by your alliance with Elessar the mortal. Do not pretend to understand when you cannot and have no desire for it." He leapt forward like a lighting bolt of jet black and Arwen was struck harshly across the cheek. She stayed quite still as her head was left, with her doleful eyes betraying the hurt while she endured without a sound the smarting pain as it rang out from the burning skin. "Re-blindfold her eyes. Take her to the Master."

As Arwen was assailed, she called out clearly, wishing with her whole heart to be simply listened to. "We may have chosen different paths, but that does not prevent a capability for understanding the other's choice… please, will you not let me help? I only want to dispel hurts, not prolong them!"

Her sight was stolen from her and she heard another order go out. "Also, seal her mouth; tightly. The power of this elf-witch is a danger to us all. The sooner we reach Minas Morgul, and she is broken to ash, the better."

xxxxxx

Now the Dark Elves made Arwen run, hard and fast and furiously, although the domination of weariness had consumed every part of strength left in her limbs just as if they were devouring it and this was fuelling their passion. "Since you were so keen on flight, you can run back now. Be quick, or you shall feel the bite of distaste." Their cold words mocked Arwen and they laughed acerbically, but they were equally clear and quite distinguishable as elven voices. Marooned in utter darkness Arwen was lacking all awareness, standing quite still, unsure of what audacious move to make. All of a sudden a whip lashed against her legs; the loud snap through the air matched the rent of pain against her soft skin.

She leapt forward out of reach of another whip-crack but felt the heavy presence of the Dark Elves moving around her, like an unmovable burden of weight in her mind, closing off all other thoughts. As fast as she could she dashed forward, driven by the fear of pain travelling close behind, and she only knew where to go by the light that yet fell on her covered face, where her captors did not run ahead of her but only at her sides. She kept stumbling on the rocks and tree-roots, for they did not guide her well, but she caught herself hurriedly, heeding not the scratching against her flesh. The burden she bore was hindering her light elven steps and the numerous breaths were drying out her mouth so that clean air felt like raw ash on her tongue. Soon she tired and weakly melted to the ground, utterly exhausted. Her white cheek rested for a moment on the earth; the dust settled on her dry sticky lips and she had not the will to even wipe it away when her bound hands were trapped beneath her buckled body.

There was a second strike, this time lashing across her back like a string of teeth, but after a loud gasp she remained as she was, vainly striving to manage her breathing and she could not yet manage to bring out some concealed strength from within. After hurting her again, the Dark Elves seemed to realise that she could not keep running. They changed their plan.

"Seize her shoes. Make her go barefoot over the rocks." Sharp fingernails scraped over her feet and removed her light elven shoes from her naked feet. When she was stood up, the uneven stones pressed into her feet like a bed of nails. "Walk," the vindictive voice hissed, unable to restrain the sniggering within, "or we will drag you by your silken braids."

So she stepped tentatively, trying to go quickly and not lose her footing on the loose ground. She could feel hot blood slick on the soles of her feet, and later became quite sure of its wetness streaked up by her ankles. If it was not from this, she could tell by the laughs and shouts of the Dark Elves that they were taking pleasure in her walk of pain, and could hear the light clatter of arrow heads and metal shards ahead on the path before her; yet she kept going, resolved on protecting herself and the child within her if it was ever within her capability, even if that meant by the spilling of her blood.

Thus she came at last back to the seething anthill of the encampment; here half of the guards left to bring the tidings and explanations to the other Dark Elves lurking in the cave, while half took her somewhere nearby – a smaller cave underground, or perhaps to a part of the same hollow which had a different entrance. She was bidden to stand and wait, while they conversed with their Master. Arwen's legs trembled uncontrollably as she endured the delay and she tried with all her might to ignore the stinging of her feet and to fruitlessly decipher the Black Speech in which they talked furtively.

"Very well; enter." The evil-sounding voice of the Master – the one who had first found Arwen that last night – called her in and she walked forwards slowly, as if into a pool of unwelcomingly cold water, wishing she was going back in the opposite direction as fast as she possibly could; his voice was unbearable. The ground was scattered with less boulders, now more sandy, and the coarse grains were glued to her wounded feet by her blood. She winced, screwing up her hidden eyes, but then she began to notice that there was strange lighting all about her. It was suddenly quite quiet and still. The guards had left. She was alone, except for him.

There were quiet footsteps and all of a sudden a stretch of shadow passed over her head and the blindfold was untied by fingers chill against her warm scalp. When the darkness vanished her sight was immediately brought upon the Master, still hooded and cloaked in black, but the closeness of his face to her caused his flaming eyes to roar out into hers and his breath to rattle icily upon her skin. Arwen shrank into herself, blinking apprehensively, at this suddenness of oppression quite overcome with alarm.

The Master's face, despite being shrouded, was pale as a sickly moon and a slight smirk could be discerned when he recognised his first power over the elf. She briefly frowned and swallowed, wishing herself to be less open and more stalwart, valiant, brave as Aragorn when the fight for his life and the free-peoples' of Middle-Earth had come in the War of the Ring. As if this change of mind had occurred visually through her body he drew away a few paces, moving into the red light of two torches. Arwen perceived them now to be made of blackened metal, stifling the fire caged inside so that snakes of smoke issued from the cracks and poured vehemently out into the air. The weighted poisonous fumes reached all around with their crawling fingers, diving down in kinks purposefully to irritatingly tickle Arwen's dry throat, and the red gleams in the slits of the lanterns were so bright in contrast to the hanging black vapour that they burned onto Arwen's eyes like searing hot iron brands.

"I hear you have tried to escape me," his words soft and tense, shot at her from side-on. The leader commanded an answer. All Arwen gave him was silence and looked at him unblinking with her blue eyes bright in contrast to the stark colours of the cave where flashes of deep orange rose and fell upon the brown earthy wall hypnotically through the murky vapours. She could barely do any more in defence but her eyes were just as entrancing as his were inescapable.

"That is quite a selfish act," he said, unperturbed, "seeing as what your so-called 'friends' have done for you, in order that you might have a chance of freedom and abandon them here. Will you not admit to this crime? Come… it is easier to ask for forgiveness now than it would have been to beg for permission to leave. Speak! Or are you so self-indulged that you will not share your thoughts with me?" His voice rose rashly to a temper.

"I have no plan of being selfish, and never have," Arwen said softly and coolly, unmoved by the increased volume or his blazing eyes. "It was not my wish to leave them, but it was their desire in their need to free someone so that help may be brought to all."

"And you volunteered yourself?"

"No… they wished for me to go."

"And why was that? Because you call yourself a Queen?" His voice quivered with disgust as he spoke that word, which somewhat astonished Arwen.

"Because…" Her eyes fell down to her stomach and then she shut them briefly. "I could hide myself, and I had more hope of finding help."

"Of course…" he simpered in mock-empathy.

"You do not believe me," she replied immediately with mild resentfulness while defending her dignity. "It was not an act of selfishness, at least not intentionally. I only desire to help those innocent people whom you are hurting unfairly."

"Those people you name as 'innocent' may be what I name as 'unwitting followers'. Either out of foolishness or blind acceptance of word they follow their new leader, your King. For that they will pay."

"I do not understand." Arwen's eyes misted up and she shook her head gently. "Why do you hate Elessar?" The tenderness in her voice as she spoke the name clearly struck the Master and his tone was quick when he answered, evading her question. Instead he attacked back at her viciously.

"There are many things you do not understand, Arwen Undómiel. Do not try to! And moreover do not lie to me or my guards. You may be an elf, like us, but we are not one and the same. Your choice was different to ours. Do not drag us down to your low path. Do not desire to understand us. You cannot."

Arwen stayed there motionless, watching him with her blue eyes fixed on his, holding her calm silence. They stared at each other for a while. Then he tipped his head to the side, narrowing his eyes so that they were chinks of red exactly resembling the lanterns on either side of him.

"Why so keen to understand your enemy now, when before you just wanted to flee? That is undeniably strange behaviour, Undómiel."

Arwen deliberated over this before she gave an answer. She herself could not understand why now that she knew they were elves changed the situation, yet in her heart, it really did. But Arwen felt that she admit to this – a connection, a feeling of love; what they named trickery, falseness, weakness. Instead she hesitantly proposed another doubt. "I thought that your main object of desire was Aragorn. You did not seem to want to converse with me, merely to use me to reach him. Yet now, you do. Will you not explain this peculiarity to me?"

The Dark Elf's eyes flashed, for he did not expect a reversal of the tables. He made straight for Arwen, speaking in low tones, his breathing hissing through tight teeth, and then he paced around her in close circles, so tight that his black cloak brushed against her legs and in the gloom he was not much more than a shadow endlessly trapping her, with dreadful eyes piercing her own and scarring her unshielded heart.

"Elessar is who he is. But you, Undómiel, you chose to bind yourself to him, deliberately. You sheared your life in two for his sake, your cast away the path that could have lead you to heights even a match for the Valar… for him. Your heart is now his, out of pure choice, from what you name love… that is your weakness, Undómiel. You are so alone. Who is there now to share this burden with you? You have forsaken your people. You have abandoned the path that could have brought you to powers beyond your imagination. You do not belong among men.

"Your soul is rent, broken, forced to endure the death of immortality. All this for Elessar… why? What drove you to this? What hope is left to you now? Nothing. Darkness… shadow… endless torture… whichever way you go, that deserving fate is reserved for you along. How could you believe you could freely live after this? After forsaking everything so elevated, plunging yourself into the pits. You have chosen what awaits you. We absolutely despise Elessar. But to ally yourself with him, with your thoughts, life, and whole heart, we cannot understand. You are hated. You _will_ be punished!"

As he had been speaking, his voice had drawn into a coarse whisper, but the emotion had escalated so that he was almost spitting, his hatred oiling his mind and lathering his words. Now, when he beheld Arwen, the elf who had decided to sacrifice everything for the love of that unspeakable mortal, appearing so righteous and beautiful and understanding with his people, he was filled with fury and shook violently, unable to restrain his eyes from burning into her with wild passion.

"And yet of course, your friends thought differently, and saw you as an elf who was thus capable of escape and outwitting me. What deceit have you practised? How do you work your talents, playing out lies and leading others astray, teaching them falsities and pretending to be true? You hide the truth; you hide yourself from the truth you are to cowardly to face. You cannot admit to betrayal; for in your heart, you know it to be true…"

Arwen shivered, glancing away tentatively. She knew that his aim was to lead her off course and into his arms, but it was impossible to ignore his words, when she was so alone. They struck to her heart. Had she deceived herself? Living without the elves who were her friends, the Galadhrim, and her family, all those who shared her understanding of Arda and her delight in its beauty, shared her sorrow at its grief, joined her in their final hope of the waning days of the elves, they had all gone – her life had fallen away.

Had she lied to them, telling herself that she would be happy facing death quite alone, facing the endless depths of nothingness, with no elf calling out to her to come back from the edge of the world as it fell away beneath her feet? Had she even lied to Aragorn, not wanting to break his heart by leaving these shores, and instead had rent asunder her own, shattering everything she loved into a mere memory? Her empty life stretched out before her… a reconciliation of her deception, what she deserved for warping her purpose in Arda to her own weak judgment of what her life should be. Everything now amiss was due to her poor choices, her dishonesty, her blindness to the real suffering in the world…

She quaked, her roaming eyes suddenly falling on his, or were they drawn there? She could not tell, but she suddenly felt quite cold; bare and naked. He lowered his head steadily, standing only a few feet in front of her, examining her eyes intently.

"But _hiding_ yourself?" He spoke in softer tones, pressing her more gently, seemingly. Yet Arwen could tell from the silkiness that his anger was simmering perilously shallow beneath the surface. To refuse a reply would be to willing beckon the greedy face of horrible death. "What do you mean by that?" His searching eyes dropped to Arwen's shoulders and she shivered as if he had laid a cold hand around her nimble frame. "What cloak is this?" he demanded, sweeping forward to scrutinize it closer. Arwen eyed him resentfully and shrank back.

"It is a mere elven cloak. I have had it since my days in Lothlórien." That was the truth… leastways, it was not a lie. Nevertheless Arwen's voice quavered as she spoke and to hear her own words so vulnerable and beckoning an attack made her more uneasy by twofold.

"Hmm..." The Dark Elf ignored her allegation and, regularly throwing her sideways looks he began probing the soft material with hard bony fingers. Their chill penetrated the cloak like icicles, creeping into unwanted places. "I could see it was elven, fool. But what elven magic is within, I wonder?" The groping continued, and the sensation of being draped in cold slime, like dexterous weeds strangling her limbs, progressed bitterly and unstoppably.

"I do not know what you mean by magic. But there is nothing that would aid you," Arwen answered, wishing that the searching fingers would cease. Indeed, now they did pause, but remained pressing into her body as if digging further into her would loosen her secrets.

"So there is something? I knew there was. For how else could you escape the sight of my guards? What is it; what have you done?!"

Arwen said nothing, braving whatever danger. She would not tell him that she made it using star-water, which had powers even beyond that which even the elf could foretell, varying each time it was created, and would only fulfil the elf's wish at that exact moment in which it was set: her desire had been for aid to be close to Aragorn out of love. She would never speak of this. Above all, it betrayed too much of her heart. That was on the brink of peril as it was, and could be the catalyst of her own disaster, in the end – whenever that would be.

Out of the blue he gripped her arms and shook her. "Speak! For what purpose is this cloak? What does it do?" At her stillness he spat in her face and shoved her away, cursing, and he turned his affronted back on her.

"I know your mind," he said at last with spite, after copious muttering. "You harbour some secret; some power of yours lies hidden. You will not hand over it to me: I will take it for myself!" He swirled round and launched his greedy hands upon Arwen's body, snatching at the velvety folds of the dark blue cloak and wrenching it violently until the little clasp gave way. Arwen gasped as it choked her neck and her eyes followed helplessly as her twilight cloak was gathered up into desecrating hands. His flaming eyes squinted at the tiny stars swirling in the cloak's watery body.

"Please…" she could not restrain her distress from escaping her lips. The unhappy word, not much more than a dying breath, led the Dark Elf to look round, with a cruel smile glimmering on his thin lips.

"Oh, I will willingly thrash you with vengeance, I take relish in disciplining you with as much wrath as I experience when I look at you, it is my utmost exultance to punish you, Undómiel, the betrayer of the true elves of Arda!"

With this he seized her bound arms and drew out a flying whip from within the folds of his billowing cloak. Arwen urgently tried to pull away in terror, but the silhouette of a snake rearing up towered above her, and it lashed down furiously. The sting was fierce and so sharp that the ropes trussing her wrists fell away like thin strings. She let out a horrendous cry.

He thrust a clamping hand over her mouth. "Do not make a sound! You _will_ endure this. No one else must hear, do you understand me?" It was not a question. Arwen's eyes darted up to his, petrified. He leered down at her at wheeled the whip around before thrashing it down once more. Arwen's face crumpled up, tears squeezing out from her forcefully shut eyes. The evil bite struck down on her palm again, while a hard hand gripped her pulsing forearm and her other arm helplessly plied at her sleeve repeatedly.

Her skin broke; the flesh was raw, stinging as intensely as a white firebrand pulled straight across her palm. The smarting was tingling with anger, but to no avail whatsoever. Blood specks began to smatter her face; her own hot blood. All that she could see was red and black, blood and death, fire and shadow, insufferably hot and tremendously cold, all consuming. When she tried to pierce her thick tears, she saw a chasm of scarlet across her flushed flesh, blood pouring out ceaselessly, beaten and ruined mercilessly, pain induced ever-heightening. The sight made her weep inside and cringe from agonising anguish.

Finally after an illegible time as in the manner of a nightmare, she was thrown to the ground and left to curl up like an injured animal. Arwen cradled her red hand; where the fingers were or the raw wound began she could not work out through her clouded vision; everything was bloody, her dress was soaked in hot liquid running all over her belly, her face was scorching hot and drenched in tears. Two trembling fingers traced over the red sea of her palm as she tried to comprehend what had just happened and what was now left to her.

"Go on," the Dark Elf sneered, "save yourself. I will not prevent you from dying."

Arwen's eyes lifted up in confusion, openly crying. "But you want to use me to persuade Aragorn… that's why you came for me all along."

"Ah," he said, nodding as he mocked her puzzlement. "So you have not lost all your wit, elf-witch. I know you will save yourself, because of something you call 'love' for Aragorn. And despite this, you know what is awaiting you in Minas Morgul. You are a fool, a fool with unfathomable deception. But you will not lie to me. And you will not disobey me!" he shouted at her. Arwen whimpered.

All of a sudden he kicked out at her shrunken body; Arwen grappled at the dirt just in time; his fast blow missed her stomach and instead collided forcefully with her head. She collapsed onto the stiff ground, the world passing away from her, in and out of the horror of pain, and the horror of dreams of hopelessness. Tangled in immeasurable pain, the Dark Elves' forms moved above her like restless heralds of death and their words faded and rose, filling her ears with frightening convictions about her fate… and Aragorn's.

As she heard them talking, her heart froze and a column of ice expanded in her throat. They believed that Aragorn would not come. He would not come. He would not come for her. After all… he had not before. His duty was with his people, and he would not forsake his rule and protection over them… his love for his men, who shared the same blood as him, was so great… blood… there was so much.

And why would he come for her? The powers of the Valar are too great, Arwen thought fearfully. Her pulse quickened and snapped in her ears sharply while the rate at which her blood was spilled doubled and tripled and passed out of reckoning. By her feet she saw a deep cut black chasm while her mind soared and reeled, dangerously making her sway and stumble, exceptionally close to the edge. Like the voice of the wind her thoughts sighed in her mind, barely moving the autumn leaves on the golden trees so that they slid to the ground. She could not hold back the fears which had been locked inside her heart from leaking into her blood and pouring through her veins, intoxicating her mind and body.

Arwen's streaming eyes were raised up to the darkened roof in vain. She knew that she had rejected her immortality which was the highest gift on Arda which the Valar gave. She had left her people, with whom she truly belonged, the elves, the fair folk of the trees who had now passed over the sea to Valinor, their home. Aragorn however… now she wept… he had not swayed from his path, assigned to him alone. His path was to save Middle-Earth, to undo what evil his forefather had done, and now he proved his love for men, for those whose fate he shared, and those with whom he was now rebuilding a glorious safe kingdom, stabilising a trembling land into his home, a memory of the splendour of the ancient days brought back to life. Aragorn was so honourable, so righteous, so loving…

And what was she? Arwen whispered to herself, ashamed, as she saw Aragorn's grey eyes piercing her own, looking inside and searching, unreadable and hiding all expression save grief.

She followed and looked inside herself. She closed her eyes and breathed in. Arwen felt the life within her, the life which had been formed when Aragorn touched her, so gently and so beautifully, and he had kindled that purest light within. Now she embraced that which was dearer than anything else this side of the Great Sea, and it was her turn to express her love, her thankfulness for Aragorn's affection. She did not deserve such a king, such a healer of souls. For hers had been broken, torn in two.

If she was to take on such a life on the wrong side of the sea, the wrong side of fate; if she was to try to hold on, to find a way back; for any reason, for one reason, if there was only one, it was this one: to be the guardian of light, brighter than the silmarils, to protect that life within her, that light which had made Aragorn laugh with joy, that light which he had noticed so endearingly in her eyes, so that even if she slipped into shadow, even if she must part from Aragorn's high path, there would be one hope left, the one thing which would save him…

That mingling of Arwen and Aragorn's love, the light of both the elven kindred and the race of men: the little child who would be the hope of Arda.


	24. Entrance of the Departure

I am sorry this has taken so long to post. I have been very busy (as always!) but now I am on holiday so I should be able to write more yay! Thank you my faithful reviewers and thanks especially to kacie who helped me get over a bad review which had distracted me for a while. I hope this chapter answers any questions you had had before and look forward to more updates from now on!

24. Entrance of the Departure

A light was growing, but for some reason, it was frightening. She felt like she was drawing closer, like a moth pulled to an entrancingly blazing lamp, except that all she wanted to do was to pull back, directly away in the opposite direction, quickly before she touched it. Like a white ghost gleaming pale green with sickliness, she could not escape even in her dreams. It just hung there, stained with wickedness. Waiting. Leering. She was being drawn closer, worryingly. Panic flitted around madly in her chest. What could she do?

Arwen tried to cry out, but found that her mouth was glued together as if her teeth and lips were lashed up with the sticky webs of a great spider. Whilst she was lethargically contemplating this in confusion, she found herself rocking up and down and understood the reason why she could be feeling physically ill. Then suddenly the rush of pain seared back up her arm and the very memory of the raw wound made the ache of the flesh prolong its unwanted stay. Utterly wearied, Arwen struggled to overcome this, and made an effort to open her eyelids which were leaden with drowsiness.

The chaos of a large journey on horseback flooded her sight even though it was night; there was the rider holding her, his head bowed down, there were other horses and riders cantering past like the wind, there were the stark lines of trees, so thin that they need not find any sort of path through the bare winter woodland, all swimming through a murky shade of blue. The grey-blue sky was clear and a sliver of moon peered down on her from way above, sparking in and out, like a fire flickering in the wind. The lofty branches of dull trees raised their thin arms between the elf's eyes and the heavens and were stencilling out the sky. Then, when the black rider bent over her, the moon's little face was stamped out altogether and the sky was swept out of sight.

"Why do you search for an escape?" he said, his eyes bursting into flame from within the shadows of his long hood. Arwen did not want to hold the gaze, yet neither did she want to look away and give evidence for his belief. "Do not trust to hope," he told her softly. "You may have escaped for the time being, but you will not be able to run away from the consequences of your trickery. I am not as easily fooled as those mortals you name your friends."

"What?" Arwen whispered softly. A frown settled on her already worn face. The Dark Elf moved closer, making her more aware of the coldness of his body.

"I know what you did to yourself. You thought that by injuring yourself, you would arouse some pity within us. No, that did not work! How could you think that? We can all see through your craft." His voice hissed in her ears, while the horse's hooves below were drumming like her pulse in her temples.

"Injuring myself?" Now Arwen was wholly incredulous, so stunned that her words hardly left her lips. Yet immediately the Dark Elf made a gesture; then from the icy grip suddenly on her arm, Arwen realised that he must have seized her wounded hand.

"Do not deny it, elf. All that your self-infliction has earned is a few less waking hours and a faster approach to your deliverance."

Now Arwen was confused even further. "What deliverance?" she ventured to question.

The Dark Elf laughed and his uneven breaths settled like clouds on Arwen's skin, leaving cool damp patches on her cheeks. "Have no fear, we will not return you to your home," he said snidely. "It is more the reception of what you deserve, and the liberation from this world as you know it." His laughs faded away, the flames in his eyes quietening down again.

"I am sorry?"

Suddenly, the Dark Elf became quite cold. His countenance was remarkably changed so quickly. "Who gave you permission to speak, who gave you the authority to demand answers of me?" he snapped. "Be silent, or suffer being bound!" He hissed at her through clenched teeth and yanked his hand off hers.

She glanced upwards, but the sky had been replaced with an upturned bowl of grey mist, covering everything above and around her, and as she raised her head the ground below her was thrown up and the fogginess began to wheel around her like an ever fastening whirlpool. Her balance was tipped sideways, and yet wherever she leaned, it seemed to fall the other way. When she tried to move to one side, it felt as if everything had dropped away at her feet and she was hurtling downwards; when she edged to the other, she seemed to be slammed up against a vertical wall.

Like a sudden returning memory which sets guilt flashing up through the body, although it was ever-present, the blazing feeling of utter dread and inescapable doom cascaded into her very core and violently split apart her heart. The dizziness worsened even further, for Arwen struggled in panic against the tumbling world, but never succeeded to take hold. The only thought in her head was the impulse to get away; but the presence of Minas Morgul in her mind was thrust closer and closer, inescapably so, and she was being carried closer all the time, just as a tiny boat is helplessly whisked along by the pounding current in a ravaging storm. A ring of black rocks formed around the bowl of grey and appeared to dance about as if they were underwater, or she was, drowning in such cold water. Then some steely hands locked on her shoulders and she was hauled up, back, and Arwen realised now that while they had locked her back in the world, they had also sealed the fate of her path.

She beheld them now with the fog having passed away as if she was seeing the world for the first time and everything was composed of vividly contrasting colours, shapes and textures. The smooth faces of the Dark Elves were deathly white, while their glinting eyes were a rich blood-red set into deeply cut eye sockets. The earth reared up on either side of her and the party, to such towering heights of ragged black mountains that it seemed as if the hearts of the Dark Elves were so heavy with evil that they had sunk the land on which they walked to depths below the ocean floor. Shadows lurked here denser than in caves unseen by any life-form, yet the road on which they were halting gleamed like the blade of a knife, the fine paving like intricate carving, the dusty hoof-marks like fingerprints. The horses' hooves gleamed silvery in the faint lost moonlight and they stirred anxiously. The riders' black cloaks twitched as if made of some living bewitched animal and they parted like an honouring tide.

Her line of sight reached the commander, his outline so sharp a jet-black against a paler sable of bodies. He was approaching, what was behind on the road yet blocked by his form and those of the others, while the apprehension he incited was not so unfelt. His eyes casually moved over hers, his expression not transmuting however until he had turned his glance her guards, and he gave an abrupt nod.

"Yes; now."

Arwen looked round searchingly, when she was lifted up from the saddle by many hands and began descending to the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the leader bring his horse about; there was a glittering on his arm – it was her cloak! There it rested, like a bridal veil which was forced to hide the lovers, now abducted. She must have betrayed some thought of injustice through her eyes, for a ripple moved throughout the riders and a smile tweaked the face of the Master. Arwen relented with an anguished sigh and cast her glance away.

Her feet found the ground, and her weight was no longer suspended, although the hands did not quite relinquish her body. She knew she ought to stand, or at least try, but she found her heart racing with a dread of the return of a hallucination. When it did not plague her, however, the claw-like hands drove her forwards, spurring her into walking along the road. The stone was numbingly cold, but the grit and dirt was somewhat piercing to her soles. She walked forward slowly, unsurely gazing up at the austere leader. No comprehension filled her mind, so instead she urged herself to restrain the extent to which she was frightened from being observable, and instead hold the valiant face of elves which she had seen her brothers wear so often in the face of corruption and perilous evil. She held her courage, until just as she passed the leader, obediently following the channel between the black bodies which opened up from her sullied feet, he swept round after her, and, as she watched, she saw the stature of a curved blade at his hip. She knew instinctively; it was her sword. Arwen wanted to cry out, but the horse was raining down behind her, so she swiftly turned back and made her steps continue onwards, able to withhold her tears but not the shaking of her heart.

However, when the barracks of riders ended, the sight of what was ahead on the road stopped Arwen dead in her tracks. The bane of the kingdom of Gondor flared up, like a ghastly skull out of an everlasting night. Minas Morgul was grinning, with its defining towers and battlements like great teeth, and it gleamed with a pale light, like moonlight on bone stained with blood, its defiled walls alluding to the corruption which polluted the city from within. It was the defiling of what was once beautiful and pure which made Minas Morgul now so terrible to behold; the late days had come, where nothing good would now remain for much longer. At this Arwen felt her terror fade into a great sadness and she endured resignation to this understanding of the passing of everything good in Arda; an elf no longer had any power there… especially one who had lost her elven life.

The Dark Elves came up behind her. "Go," their leader hissed down into her ear. It was at this point that Arwen realised that she had no choice; either she went herself, or they would make her. She was only given the choice of which was the lesser of two pains. She walked on, but this way, she was hurting herself from the inside, doubtless the cunning devilry of the Dark Elves. With each light step, each gesture of grace which the forsaken place had not seen for hundreds of years, she was heavily crushing her heart. Her dreams were shattering, her hopes blowing out one by one like a line of candles.

Why resist what must be? It was a certainty, not a possibility – that was why her kin had departed from the shores of this land. She would not be able to hold back the tide of despair which was creeping ever close, leaking out of pockets all over the free kingdoms, slowly but surely pouring out, in order to inevitably envelop all, until goodness, beauty and the happiness of freedom were utterly replaced by evil, corruption and slavery, with no trace of the former. There was no point trying to struggle, Arwen thought. I will join all of those who have died here before, and like them I will call the living, and in death alone will the sorrow of life pass away for us. Our memory will be evergreen.

She passed over the bridge, silent and fluid as if she was already half in another world. Her glassy eyes slid down and she reeled to see where the brown water snaked below through marshy flats scattered with faintly-glowing white flowers. The wetness glinted into the distance, and the pale flowers were strangely attractive, with the fatal alluring nature of death. Some of the Dark Elves descended on either side of the road, slipping silently under the bridge to vanish like shadows, but Arwen hardly saw, her sight was lurching about so much. The rest of the company continued close behind her, driving up the sweeping road between the hideous statues looming down, drawing ever near and sealing off the way back. On looking up, Arwen saw that the sky was no longer visible, only the mountains bracing the daunting city. She was walking into a tomb, a living necropolis.

The immense walls reared up across the road, save for the great gates. They were so similar to those of Minas Tirith that all of a sudden the memory of Aragorn surged through her mind. He would not have given in. He would have fought to the end. She remembered the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, where he had striven to stop the attack on the White City. All of Aragorn's life, he had been burdened with the weight of evil on his past, with the corruption of a Maia, and he had been faced with the struggle of hope against hope that he could save Middle Earth and redeem his conscience, when he had not committed anything wrong himself. Innocence had not been a defence, yet valour was. It was the belief in what could still remain when this shadow had passed; yes everything faded in the end, but the end was far off. This storm would go by, and some good would still remain in Middle-Earth. All she needed to do was to believe.

Thus it was that when the gates creaked open, revealing a dark hole into the terrible place where no other elf, or man, or any good animal had ever willingly gone, Arwen took a breath and walked straight inside, her tumescent heart swelling with both love and grief, her blue eyes both bright with valour and shining with tears, her steps both soft and cautious, and courageous and strong, the perfect form of man and elf, of light over dark.

Now she was led up the main road of Minas Morgul, dark and overcast, where formidable creatures huddled in doorways and the Black Speech of Mordor could be heard cackling from all around. The streets were filthy, the buildings on either side once white and fair, now encrusted with rusty contraptions driven roughly into the stone and bleeding down in brown trails. The road rose up, while the immense walls lifted the tormented screams to the heavens. From all directions now, horrible sculptures sat contorted and grinning maniacally at her as she stumbled by, her mind swimming and reeling amid such faces of horror. Past the blackened towers, through alleyways crammed with orcs brandishing scimitars and yelling raucously, Arwen was dragged up to the citadel.

From this height, her streaming eyes fell upon the loathsome valley, with the great towers of the wicked battlements encircling the city and the bodies of armies surging through the streets below. Fire brands darted in and out of gnarled buildings while in the distance the smooth body of the Morgul road gleamed dimly as it wove out of the city among the marshes like a sinuous snake lying silently in wait. Grunts of creatures beating up each other scattered through the dense air as well as the soft voices of the Dark Elves as they laughed and rejoiced at their fruitful return. Arwen remained silent, gradually noticing through the thick pounding of her poor head the pink pallor of her arms from the constricting grip that the guards held on her wrists and the purple bruises on her battered feet. A few locks of her long raven hair had slipped across her face and stayed there, stuck to her wet cheeks.

A gust of wind buffeted her face and Arwen looked up to see the massive doors into the citadel halls being opened, while far up above, escalating up into the black clouds, the pinnacle of Minas Morgul glimmered, like a sword tip naked in preparation to strike. Just as Arwen was snatched inside, she thought she saw a green spark catch flame at the peak so high above. But before she could contemplate this, all her senses were drowned by the horrific screams of tortured souls rending the air. As weak as she was, Arwen wrenched her hands to her ears and cowered to the ground in vague attempt to escape the living crypt she was entering. The Dark Elves tugged at her wrists and in the end resigned to pulling her along the ground. Arwen could not even hope to restrain her sobbing, for the howls of anguish reverberated away down the stone chambers ceaselessly and echoes of cries loomed back, ever circling the air and haunting her trail along the floor. Under every archway on each side were the skeletal bodies of men hardly alive, their white eyes round and dry of tears, fingers stretched out to grasp the mirage of Arwen's elven presence as she passed their bony feet. She could do nothing except mourn their passing into the darkness and share their pain in the aching of undeserved guilt in her heart.

It was not until Arwen's crumpled body was thrown through the doorway of a quiet hall that she realised the extent to which she had been crying, for now she had understood the fates of Beregond, Erandur, and the parents of Celros; in this separate chamber every tear could be heard dropping, every shaken sigh. Lying on the cold floor, she tentatively opened her tightly screw-up eyes, and saw that she was in the centre of a circle of many stone chairs, about ten, in the vast vault of the main hall of the city. On the seats Dark Elves sat, burning their gaze into her with their flaming eyes, while the pallid faces of other Dark Elves lingered outside of the circle, waiting silently in the gloom. Arwen climbed unsteadily to her feet, wincing and glancing round as a voice spoke out to her.

"Why look so fearful, Undómiel?" Arwen slowly raised up her eyes to meet the Dark Elf's. They were the Master's; sitting on the great throne of the city, carven from white stone just like the one which Aragorn sat on, he had his arms drooping languorously on the arm rests. He remained cloaked in black, but his red eyes seemed more vibrant now that he had returned to his lair, with a treasure trophy. He fixed these burning eyes on Arwen coolly and his thin lips twitched.

"Has the realisation of what is to come of you finally passed you by?" he asked. "Or do you still not understand why you are here?"

"No," Arwen said lowly, "I do understand. However… there is one thing I do not. Please, tell me why you hate Aragorn so profoundly, so that I may truly understand what crime it is that you name upon my head."

The Master laughed and his eyes flashed over to where others were situated around the room, earning their approval. "So your alliance with the mortal has dulled your wits too? I shall inform you, despite you having openly succumbed to such blindness. It will be my great pleasure. Please-" He rose, like a black wave soaring up over a twilit sky, and drew nearer to Arwen. "-Sit, while I reel off your lover's innumerable sins. For… I fear you may not take this willingly… it may be hard on your heart."

A wicked smile crept up his grey lips as he held out his hand to her. Whispered laughs hissing just like the sea crawls up the sand seethed all around. Arwen hesitantly looked from the throne to the Dark Elf's glowing eyes, wondering whether she should do as he commanded, or if it was a trick. As she mounted the stone steps, attempting to hide the great effort with which she did so, she was not stricken or scolded, but when she turned to sit on the ice-cold seat, she felt as small as a child in a giant's throne. She perched on the edge, uncomfortable and uneasy.

"Now you are… relaxed… let me begin with Elessar's foremost faults: he is a mortal. Ever have men, the second race, sought to undermine us. They forget that it was the elves who first laid eyes on Arda, who first walked across its lands, who did great deeds long before them. Now men are claiming the Middle-Earth as their own, driving the immortals, us higher beings into shadow.

"But you, Arwen, have allied yourself with no mere man. You have ever aided one who seeks to actively supplant us by leading men to their dominance in the world. He sprang up from the shadows to claim something which was not his, something which he lost long ago. He does not deserve the title of 'King'. Rather, thief, a proud, assuming good-for-nothing fighter who wields a sword which sinfully claims to be more powerful than a Maia himself - a sword which broke in the hands of another witless man, whose blood runs in his veins. His blood is thin, and weak; he is a warmonger, a lover of bloodshed of others; he is driven by greed and a lust for dominance over all others, and to rule Middle-Earth in its entirety." Arwen watched him, horrified, as he continued.

"But we – we had nothing to harm him, nothing at all. So, we had no viable reason to directly _hate_ him, as you so put it. But before this last great war, for years we had dwelt secretly in the east, in vast caverns and tunnels in the place you call the Brown Lands, where we were banished after the fall of Sauron the Magnificent. Here, in the lands once cultivated by the Entwives, we captured the last of these ancient beings, and commanded them to grow a certain plant we had found which bore a heavy poison, whose fumes cause the very air to spin and disintegrate into nothingness. They would not do so, and our patience wore thin. Yes, that is how they died, because they would not carry out our wishes." The Dark Elf glanced sideways at Arwen, whose expression was one of sadness mingled with horror. He continued as if he had not noticed.

"When we heard of the return of our Lord, we dismissed this attempt of a plan and fled to Mirkwood where we rejoined him in Dol Guldur. Here we dwelt, ever hastening his return. Then, when he returned to the Black Tower, half of our people joined him and came here, to Minas Morgul. After the War, when Sauron's wondrously renowned ring was destroyed, our people were attacked. By those close to you, Undómiel… yes, your grandparents, Galadriel and Celeborn, those who you claim to love, killed elves, those of your own kin. I have heard of the Lady of the Wood's fondness for Elessar, and I know he had her favour. I know he would have done the same. Indeed, I am of the belief that together they had planned this attack for a long time. Perhaps you had some share in this too?" Arwen frowned, her eyes shining with indignation, but the Master merely turned away.

"So, many of us now dwelt again in the caves of the Brown Lands. Banished and wounded, spurned by all. And then the water came." He swirled round, his black cloaks flying, so that he could fix his stare upon Arwen. "A great flood, an abyss torn in the land, into which tremendous waves poured, ruining our homes and driving us away. I know why it is that happened, and I can see in your eyes that you know too. Tell me, what was the asking price? Which of the Valar did you convince, when you were King and Queen of Gondor, to separate your kingdom from the rest of Arda? Why did you inflict more suffering upon an already troubled people who had done nothing to harm you? It is all Elessar's doing, for if he had not become King, this splitting of the lands would not have come to pass, and many of my people, once your people, would still be alive."

Now he turned back to the Dark Elves. "And now this fool claims this city as his own - this last dwelling of my kin. When Elessar has stolen all our other homes in Middle-Earth, he still has enough greed to steal a beggar-man's final coin. How can you be ignorant to such voracity? Surely you know this?"

The Dark-Elf swung round and bore his piercing red eyes deep into Arwen's fearful own. "Of course you do," he hissed, the flames in his eyes expanding like fire on new kindling, "you can have done naught but agreed with him. You have ever sided with this residue of all men ever to walk this land. Not only have you spurned us, your kin, those who understand that Middle-Earth is not to be handed over to lesser people, but you have actively taken a path to hurt us. You have sold your heart to a mere man, feeding his boundless insatiability, a man who has betrayed us, a man whose hunger is gargantuan, a man who sees everything and wants it all, and when he sees any other people, he wants them dead.

"You believe that he holds your kin dear, those lesser elves that you lived with in Lothlórien and Imladris. But even they have left due to Men. When Elessar took to the throne, they immediately fled. You have not restrained this; you have even betrayed your own flesh and blood! You have unified yourself with such trickery and willingly even bound your heart to his through marriage… how can you even have the daring to ungratefully hand back the immortality which the Valar so compassionately gave to you?" Arwen trembled.

Now he lunged forward and gripped the arms of the throne. "You do not even deserve the elven body which you wear. You do not deserve to behold Arda with all its beauties. You do not deserve the false respect of the name 'Queen' or to feel _power_." As he spoke this word, with much desire upon his tongue, his eyes glinted and he brought his white face within inches of Arwen's. "You do not deserve life itself, even a mortal one. You are worse than Elessar himself. For you have chosen him above all else!"

In a split second the Dark Elf grabbed Arwen by the shoulders and viciously threw her over his shoulder so that she was flung down hard on the ground. The scream which left her listless lips did no justice to the merciless pain she felt as her broken body collided with the ground. Her mind was in pieces, her heart shattered. Her hope was like a glass flower, now shattered and raining down in colourless tears. Tears or blood, there was no difference now. Grief of the body or the soul was too much to bear.

All around the Dark Elves were roused. There was a colossal commotion, like the pounding of stone ringing in her head. Her empty stomach curled. They were shouting and cursing, with their cold bodiless voices ringing down upon her as she lay there helplessly, drowning in the aches of her wounds, wishing for the moment to end. The Master came to stand above her, his pitiless eyes like Sauron himself swarming down on prey, striking through her defenceless weeping windows into her collapsing soul.

"This you should remember, elf-betrayer," he spat. "While your people have flocked to Minas Anor, ours have flocked to Minas Ithil. This is our kingdom now; the only people who have entry are at my command now that Sauron has gone. No attackers shall breach the fortifications of Minas Morgul, and you shall not find an escape out of them. You cannot undo the past. Those who come in will never go out again. And you above all others."


	25. The Brink of Cataclysm

Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers and apologies again for the delay in updating! Please don't forget to review at the end...!

25. The Brink of Cataclysm

The large doors at the entrance to the great hall of the blackened citadel were pushed open with a dumbfounding clang and the Master, along with all they other Dark Elves, had his attention drawn away from his quarry. A Dark Elf made his entrance by tearing in at a top speed, his black robes flying in the air and his red eyes flashing like a torch in a frenzied gale. He ran up to the feet of the Master, revealing an unsheathed knife in his right hand. While he caught his breath, swaying, the commander's spidery white fingers gripped the sword hilt at his own hip.

"Master," the Dark Elf panted, his eyes wild with flames, "Master, there is a disturbance down at the bridge! People are trying to enter the city."

The commander leapt up from his stooped position over Arwen. "You are sure of this?" His eyes were narrowed, tiny slits of scarlet in the shadows of his hood.

"Yes, I saw their torches. There were some cries too."

"That is enough," the commander snapped, waving the messenger away. "Come," he said, gesturing forward a group of guards. "Take her away; _quickly_. There is not much time! We must not fail now that we are so close."

Arwen was seized by the arms and pulled away in the direction of a small doorway. "Wait!" she cried out, wriggling in their arms, driven by the reckless thought in her wretchedness that Aragorn had come to Minas Morgul.

"Wait for what?" the commander questioned her sceptically. "Wait for you to escape? I do not think so. Willing or no, you will not leave here unless we all die. You will be one of us before long." His eyes then flicked to the guards, who had paused momentarily, unsure whether they ought to remain while their master talked. "Go!" he shouted at them. "Let her know the meaning of pain before I join you."

Once he deemed Arwen to be dealt with the Dark Elf turned to the messenger quaking at his side, but Arwen strained to watch him, listening with her keen elven ears. He grabbed the arm of the messenger and he hauled him at a run to a tall thin window looking out over the Morgul Vale. His quick eyes shifted like a darting flame as he peered down at the road.

"Where are they?" he demanded, in a flash swivelling round and shaking the messenger. His red eyes bulged maniacally and he seemed to grow to a tall height as if fury fed his cruel power.

"They were there, truly!" the other Dark Elf whimpered, pointing a white-knuckled finger to the windowpane. "I saw their flame torches on the road; there was a whole group of them, on horseback!"

"Bah." The Master dropped the messenger and pushed him away carelessly, once again turning his attention to scrutinising the narrow thread which wound up to the gates of the terrible city. "Muster our kin… but do not trouble with the orcs or the rest of those Morgul-rats. I see no reason to fear for our fate this evening. This night, we shall drink the blood of our foes and once more bring to life the Dark Lord with the glorious death of that faithless elf."

With this the Dark Elf spun round and stormed towards the doorway in which the guards were holding Arwen. Recognising their freeze, his eyes scrutinised their faces until they fell on Arwen's.

"Did I not tell you to hurt her?" he cried exasperatedly after he had collected his thoughts, now rushing towards them in a frenzy. The Dark Elves hurried through the doorway ahead of him and Arwen was carried through into a huge vault, lit by green flames along all four sides. It was the High Court of Minas Morgul, its cold cruel heart. The immense ceiling lifted up to a point high above, one which was the base of the very tower which Arwen had seen on entrance to the citadel. Her lips parted in wonder, remembering the astounding signal which had blindingly lit the sky with blue-green fire before the armies of Mordor had been let loose. Then her eyes dropped down to a stone structure directly beneath it… such was its width and length and so smooth was its surface that it seemed to be a tomb, but its height, the pockets for flames to be set burning in and the absence of engravings on the top gave away that it could only be one other: an altar.

Her awe turned to horror.

As Arwen swivelled round in the arms of her captors she was seized by the strong hands of the Master and torn out of the throng, towards the centre of the huge room.

"Curse you! Spurn her, beat her!" he hissed lunging forward to hit her cheek. Arwen cowered away just in time. The crowd of Dark Elves materialised into a circular wall around her and tightly barracaded in their fury, the rising pool in which she was about to drown. Now the Master grabbed a handful of her silky hair and pulled her head back, suddenly drawing put the elven blade at his hip and pressing its shiny tip against her throat. "I would kill you now, in anger," he spat, "if I did not have some way of allaying your crimes after. But," he said, trailing the sword-point down Arwen's tensed throat, over the white skin of her chest and down her dress towards her rounded stomach, on the centre of which he rested it, "there is no way for you to atone for _this_."

When Arwen saw his hand fly up, the shining blade preparing to sear down, she twisted with all the strength left in her and flung her body aside with a cry.

"Come back!" he shouted, pulling her head closer and throwing Arwen's sword to the floor. "I will not let you walk free from this. Here… Elessar is possessing you from the inside… his blood now flows in your veins… this life which is his now lives within you!" Bellowing he kicked out at her stomach; Arwen screamed, oblivious now to the other strikes the surrounding Dark Elves pound her with elsewhere. She writhed, her heart in torture, blindly trying to perceive his hands and feet as they made for her stomach, and her stomach alone. Wracked in sorrow, she gradually pulled her knees towards her head and curled up, fragilely shielding her belly with her nimble hands, now broken and bleeding from the blows.

"Please…" Arwen wept, "please, hurt me, but do not hurt my child!"

A hiss of laughter rippled through the Dark Elves as they prepared to resume their punishment, but this time their commander held out his arms and silenced them.

"So this is your great love…" he murmured. "Can you not see? -your love, so renowned, is your hindrance?" He said to her, "If you were not in love, you would not be in this labyrinth. What is it about love that so entrances you? It seems to me that in the end all love turns to grief. Would you truly do anything for your love?" He fixed his unmoving eyes on hers and remained silent.

"What do you mean?" Arwen asked slowly, her words barely lacing her weak breaths.

"There is… another way. You do not have to let Aragorn be killed tonight." Arwen stared at him with her big blue eyes. "If you gave your life, you could save him."

"I…" Arwen faltered. "I do not understand…"

The Master smiled and spoke gently. "If you give us your life, we will not kill him when he comes. You live for your love, so will you die for it?"

She paused before speaking slowly. "But if I die, then I am assuming that Aragorn is sure to be killed when you meet him," Arwen said unsurely, frowning unhappily. "That is not true; so I would be resigning to the ruin of our love before its surety had come to pass."

"We know you will lead him here," the Master said to her softly, kneeling down at her side. "And no one leaves Minas Morgul dead or alive unless bidden so by us. We will not let him escape. You know why now. But we will be content if you take his place. You have a chance to save your love."

Arwen was silent for a moment. Still gazing at her wounded hands she murmured, "The only difference is whether you kill him or whether I do. If I die, then Estel's love goes with me and all his hope for the future. Without me or an heir, the kingdom of men will fall, and his life will be in vain." Her eyes sloped up those of the Dark Elf. "He will be defenceless and broken… I know then you will easily kill him." His keen eyes narrowed and brightened as he heard how she followed his own train of thought through his mind. "No, I don't believe you," she uttered, her blue eyes cold and clear.

After a brief calculating hesitation he shouted out, "Too bad!" All around the Dark Elves leapt to life from their stillness like black flames lustfully licking at their prey. Winding his arm around her bodice the commander held her tightly to him as he ran over to the altar and laid her body on the cold hard stone which glimmered in the green torchlight. Before Arwen could understand what was happening, her wrists were being tied down outstretched on either side and her feet were tied together at the foot of the great stone.

"What are you doing?" she cried out, frightened. But the Dark Elves merely laughed. She struggled against the tight bonds and anxiously glanced around, hoping that that alone would protect her vulnerable stomach. However, no one appeared to have the intention of assaulting her there for the mean time.

"You need not look so horrified," their commander spoke over the soft eager chatter. "I am doing you a favour." Arwen's terrified, incredulous questioning expression in her forlorn eyes evidently beckoned him to continue at least as coercively as a question. "By you giving us your life, you will atone for your sins against us. Do not fear, we are not wasting your life… let me remind you of the Dark Lord Sauron, who survived spiritually, a flaming wreath with the slit of his intense power, omnipresent, without the One Ring. Now, with the ring having been destroyed, all of himself that he poured into the ring has been vanquished. Yet the part of him that could survive alone is still present. A Maia as great as Sauron could not have been killed. He awaits our help. And here you will provide him with your life and the body of an elf. He will be most grateful. He will reward you greatly."

At this revelation Arwen's heart fought to beat fiercely but her insides had iced up with utter dread for what was about to come to pass, so that she felt as if she was already drowning far inside herself. She was frozen, her face white as if her body was laid in cold unfeeling snow, and her eyes were wide and black, consumed by the expectation of death and loss of all that mattered. Words choked her rigid throat and the welling tears stung and stuttered her breath. The wish beyond all other dreams in her mind was to have Aragorn embrace her and warmly whisper, tickling her sensitive ear, that this was all untrue. But now nothing embraced her except her own collapsing thoughts. This time, her love was not able to save her.

"But I shall be dead…" Arwen whispered through blue lips and she scared herself by the words she had just spoken, still unable to believe.

"Then you shall forever have the thought that Sauron has pardoned you haunting your every moment as you walk the Halls of Mandos for eternity."

Arwen quaked and her eyelids fluttered shut for a moment. The image of this horror filled her mind and she wrung her heart in her overwhelming sorrow. Like a wavering candle-flame the child inside her wriggled around, uneasy at his envelopment by his mother's grief and fear. When she felt this, the tiny movement of warmth within her cooling body, Arwen's head dropped feebly to the side and her tears began to pool on the surface of the stone altar. Only now did she begin to comprehend the cruelty of death, and by imagining the end of a life so newly barely begun Arwen realised the bitterness of the cutting short of her own immortal existence.

She blinked and through her long dark eyelashes, now wetly stuck together, she caught sight of the reflections of many shadows moving about in the trails her tears had left on the stone. Weakly she moved her neck and saw the Dark Elves gliding around like phantoms, circling like the Nazgûl entrapping their prey. Their words faded into hissing voices, sizzling as if she was already overwhelmed by the green flames they bore and were setting around the feet of the altar, removing them from their niches in the walls of the great chamber. Through a flurry of tears, suddenly the great hall of Minas Morgul descended into a great blackness save for the wreath of green tongues licking the edges of the altar, tempted by her trembling flesh. The Dark Elves became all but imperceptible from their deep shadow except for their pallid skull-like faces and the blazing red eyes, eyes red as rubies in light of their glorious catch, red as blood in lust of her who was to be sacrificed.

Before her, Arwen saw the Master, stepping out from the sphere of eternal shadow which flooded her sight until his form was raised up above the thriving fire and he raised his arms up so that his black cloak appeared as two massive wings of bats. His pupils dilated as they fell on hers, quivering. "But how?" Arwen murmured, half to herself, half to him. She did not want to know how she was to meet her end, and yet to not know was impossible. Her sight became swamped by the emerald flames, reaching up for the cavernous roof which sucked out all life and air from the citadel, and then as her line of sight lifted directly up above, she realised why she was laid as she had been. Green sparks sputtered way up in the peak of the ceiling, towering far away, but precisely above her heart.

"No…" she began to murmur, shaking as the fear of death drew closer to her. She could not twist out of her bindings, nor silence the crisp voices of the Dark Elves, nor soften the cold hard stone beneath her body, nor escape from the overriding power of the black Master. Arwen had not even the strength to turn her mind back to look over the path which had led her to this bed, no will to defend her thoughts against the cruel intoxicating words of the Dark Elf, no determination to break the ropes and pull herself away. Her radiance was darkening; her grace was dimming, her elven nature fading, and the hold she had on life was already slipping.

The only thing which remained of her, Arwen Undómiel, in that moment was the undying memory of Aragorn which would never be lost, even in death. His love would never forsake her, and as she wept, it was for the loss of him, he who was her life, and she in turn his. She would never hold him again in her gentle hands, never wash her soft gaze over his loving face, never bring him the life which they had both strived for. Her soul was wracked with grief and the glassy tears in her eyes reflected back to her the memory of his own eyes, grey and strung with fear, which she had last seen, so long ago. Had he known? Did she have any choice to escape? She knew she could not free their love now, but how could she bear to walk for eternity with her betrayal of her one true love hanging over her, shrouding her sight, squeezing her conscience, crawling with guilt and winding round her neck, forever blazing in her eyes.

"No…" she whimpered. "Please… please…"

The world as she knew it shrunk back and, once more, she felt like a little elfling girl, innocent and vulnerable, frightened of entering a life where everything she had so far known and loved was to be lost forever, and all she desperately yearned for was the presence of a loved one. "_Please_," she begged. Her desire for Aragorn was even greater than her hold on life, now sliding between her fingers like the paper wings of a blue butterfly. "Tolo, Estel…"

There was a tremendous roaring, like thunder tearing the heavens apart, while great boulders pound down the mountain and the great waters of the oceans pour down to flood the valley. A sword of silver fire materialised in the pinnacle above like a bolt of lightning, twisting with flames whose sickly luminous green light encompassed everything. The only other thing Arwen could see was him, Sauron, his red eyes in the face of the Dark Elf, the slits staring straight into her soul, laughing at her lost fate and his regained. His voice uttering the Black Tongue of Mordor was mingled with those of the Dark Elves, crawling all over her and intoxicating her thoughts. A cold stabbing power greedily reached out to snatch her heart, the one match for her love, the love stronger than all else in Middle-Earth. Nothing was ever more beautiful and yet so sad than Arwen's broken heart, shattering like glass on the surface of a blue lake of tears lamenting her grief.

Above this, like the voice of a nightingale singing as twilight falls in autumn in the woods of Lothlórien, Arwen heard softly, as if a light rain of stars was falling upon her, "_Namarië_."


	26. The Dangerous Disguise of Darkness

I hope you enjoy this chapter! Sorry if I seem to pick on Éomer for entertainment, it just appears to be so... I love him really!

26. The Dangerous Disguise of Darkness

Sitting by the waterfall, on the polished grey floor, Aragorn leaned against the rocky pillar and gazed out into the pluming cascade. The silver flecks in his eyes ran like a mirror of the streaked waterfall, images constantly changing, thoughts and memories never quite the same, but always continuous, bringing back the same sounds, touches, auras…

No one had slept the night before. Éowyn, now lying across Faramir's arms, had been up talking softly with her brother long into the night even before Ninniach and Erandur's horse had found them and they had journeyed to Henneth Annûn. Éomer was propped up against a wall, his head at a slight angle as he slept soundly. Faramir had been out in the woodland, searching for any signs of the Dark Elves, prior to returning to the cave in hope of some rest. He now took it gladly, but not so much as the elven brothers, who after such a long and tiring journey were bound in a deep sleep, even for elves. They lay on the floor side by side, next to where Legolas sat with his hands folded over his chest, while his eyes were dreamily raised upwards and his lips moved over words in a silent song. Gimli made up for this tranquillity with gruff snores, which even camouflaged Éomer and Faramir's heavy breathing. Along with Legolas and Gimli, Aragorn himself had been travelling too. But he did not sleep.

The sun rose high in the clear sky, and the cave filled with bright white light through the watery window, ever growing as the sun moved further west, just as a rock pool fills with water while the tide creeps ever closer.

During the late afternoon, the company began to uneasily awake, and so it was that they now found Aragorn, exhausted, finally sleeping. Faramir crept over to the little storerooms and began busying about finding some food that wasn't half-eaten by mice. The others went and filled shallow basins with which to wash themselves in cold hardening water, while Éomer anxiously hurried off for a time to check on the horses.

The cave now shone like a low fire and the red light of a setting sun struck the waterfall and made the rock wall behind it glow amber. Shafts of light dancing in many colours fell on Aragorn's golden face and gently woke him. The others welcomed him to share their meal before they set out. There was no need to light any torches, for the sunset was sufficient while they remained in the cave.

Once they had taken their fill, nightshade was falling inside the cave and so Aragorn, Éomer and Faramir lit flame torches to carry with them. They filed quietly back down the stone passageway away from the Window on the West to where their many horses were grouped. Arwen's white stallion Ninniach was indeed there, now somewhat less startled, but the elves drew towards her in order to soothe her nonetheless. Aragorn fondly stroked the horse's nose, murmuring to her as if he was amorously breathing in Arwen's ear, until he saw out of the corner of his eye Éowyn draw close to Faramir's side.

"Éowyn, what horse is this?" Faramir indicated towards another, smaller horse that was warily swinging his tail but seemed quite content in the company of loving elves, a protective horse-lord and so many other magnificent horses.

"I do not know," she replied quietly, as if unwilling to let the suspicious night hear her. "He came with Arwen's horse. Either Ninniach found him in the wild, or they came from the same place." She said no more but Aragorn, who continued fondling the white horse's nose, watched as she held out something in her hands.

Faramir took a sharp intake of breath. "It cannot be… it was broken." His eyes filled with memory and emotion as his fingers tenderly slid around something pale in Éowyn's hands.

"I have managed to fix the shards together again," Aragorn heard her whisper. "If by unlucky chance we are separated, and all seems lost, promise me that you will blow it, as once he used to."

Revelation dawned on Aragorn as he saw Faramir lift a great horn up to his glimmering eyes. Faramir's lips barely moved as he spoke. "When the wind was in the East, Boromir would wind it and the sound would be carried even unto the golden halls of your fathers." He turned to Éowyn. "If its voice rings in the ears of men, may they come to our aid. I thank you." Faramir reverently put the leather strap over his head and drew his wife into an embrace, closing his glittering eyes.

Black night was heavy around them and the three torches were the only light by which the eight riders mounted their horses. A thin crescent moon hung in the cloudless sky but was too pale to aid them much in their journey. Aragorn wondered what to do with the two spare horses, but it seemed that that decision was made for him; Elladan and Elrohir, who had been consulting Legolas, now called Ninniach to them and murmured to the horse in the elven tongue, which was glimmering grey in the dim light. At their command Arwen's horse willingly set off at speed, with the other horse tailing behind quite cheerfully, and left in a northerly direction even before Aragorn could ask where the horses had been sent.

Now Elrohir answered his thoughts as he began to ride on. "It is only if our fortune should go ill," he said. "But do not doubt yourself, Elessar. Even so, the company of elves will aid your situation greatly." Aragorn was even more puzzled at this riddle, but he could not trouble himself with this, for his mind was constantly magnetised back to concentrating on what was ahead of his path and that of his friends.

There were eight of them bravely journeying to the overshadowed city, but a growing sense of unease was mounting around their group, as if the woodland was corrupted by the Dark Elves themselves as they passed through it, ahead of the company. They came into an unnatural mist as they reached the cross roads after some time and its dampness caused the flame torches to flicker and shrink repressively. It closed the way behind them and ominously hovered ahead, glowing a pallid green and evoking a sense of disquiet in the riders' hearts.

When they came in sight of a great forbidding rock by the crossroads, looming out of the hanging mists, Faramir stopped. Éowyn halted beside him.

"I do not think you should come with us," he said to her softly. "I do not want to lose you."

The White Lady of Rohan stared back. "Why would I not come with you? I am of no use here, and I would only be more afraid waiting here in the darkness to be encompassed alone than with you in the perilous fires. I do not choose danger, only to be by your side and to help those I love. If you are lost, then I will be lost with you all."

Faramir looked to Aragorn, who met Éowyn's eyes and nodded.

"Very well," said Éomer. "Lady Arwen is not alone in her courage at this moment in time. We must all face this Shadow, and look to defeating it. The more hold back, the more we will lose."

They carried on past, their horses unwillingly ascending the climbing road towards a fear which stretched out its arms towards them. None dared look immediately ahead, despite the thinning of the mists which had begun to roll back. Éowyn drew to Faramir's side. She looked up into his eyes, which glistened with the elusive light of the mists. He smiled and gently took her hand. She glanced away, wishing that the dread which crawled around her shoulders like cold fingers would leave and not betray her trepidation to Faramir; she would not give in, she would carry on.

But suddenly, they found themselves quite separate from the grey veil, and marooned with a cloud lingering behind over their shoulders, creeping down from lands. This unforeseen change served to be alarming, for now they were in direct sight of the forsaken valley, and the road from beneath their very feet wound its way right up to its yawning gates, inhaling the air which chilled their throats. They were in the gorge in the overshadowing mountains, where darkness settled and shadows festered, where unspeakable things were breeding and slowly crawling about, hoarding whatever poisons and incantations issued from within.

Fumes diffused through the heavy air, seeping from the thousands of pale flowers which were held lifeless and sickly in the wide flats around them, like a sea of a great burial bouquet. The cold descended so heavily that a pain flashed across their heads and on looking at each other, their faces appeared quite white, as deathly as the flowery marshes which waited on the side of the road, breathless in anticipation to claim a body into its wet stems.

In silence their eyes were drawn upwards unwillingly to the city of dread. A horror struck to their very souls as they beheld its imposing presence, its glow which was terrifyingly entrancing, like the image of death pulled into a twisted leer. The black windows littered its pale walls, staring out like eyes of the city themselves, restlessly keeping watch on the road. They felt vulnerable as such, laid bare before an unseen enemy where they could feel its presence. The towering pinnacle, uprising from the innermost sanctuary of the outcropped walls sharp as white knives, cutting into the consuming sediments of night, pierced them all with a flickering green blaze. Fearfully they tore their eyes away, shameful to be defeated by the corrupted city's intoxicating aura and reluctant to lay clear their weakness to each other.

The horses uneasily shifted their hooves and the riders glanced at each other, hastily turning away when they thought they would make eye-contact. None of them wanted to reveal the fear they had, greater than before the battle of Helm's Deep, deeper than at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, and more striking even than at the final battle against Sauron. Somehow, all that had happened in the past had been vanquished and now hung on this thin thread which they gingerly held.

"We have been here long enough," Faramir muttered, with his head bowed but his eyes flickering to those on either side of him. But no one replied.

Quite out of the blue Elladan, who was standing foremost of the group, flinched as if something had struck him in the eyes. After shaking his head imperceptibly he turned to meet Aragorn's eyes, while the others raised their heads to watch him, wondering at this peculiar behaviour.

"Estel… we are not the only ones on this bridge," he whispered.

The group shrank together, except Elladan, who boldly rode on towards one of the large stone posts at the far end of the bridge. Something stirred in its black shadow.

"A scout!" cried Éomer. He automatically hurled his spear past Elladan's ear and instantly a body heavily cloaked in black robes flopped down onto the paving stones, but at the sound of his voice in unison a whole crowd of others had leapt up around them, encircling the eight companions like a thick tightening fence of black flames. Legolas swiftly loosed two arrows to those nearest to Elladan, who was most endangered. After recovering from shock Elrohir, Aragorn and Faramir soon followed in firing a volley to protect their little fellowship from the white faces with blazing red eyes which materialised out of the darkness of the night. It did not take long to assure their safety, but it had shaken them and now put them on their guard.

Aragorn looked up hurriedly at the city standing over them. "They will be watching here from the gates! Quick, put out the torches!" He ushered the others as they cast the beacons over the bridge into the marshes. For a moment, the pale flowers lit up eerily like yellow eyes staring up at them watchfully, and then they glowed dimly before fading gradually into gloom.

Elladan was the only one to stay standing where he was. Legolas drew next to his stooped form and looked down with him to the lifeless elvish faces of the two slain by the elf's arrows. While the eyes of Sauron still remained staring evilly upwards, the rest of their faces were smooth and proud, undeniably from the same blood as the elves who had killed them.

"Leave them," Legolas said softly, resting a hand on Elladan's shoulder. His green eyes sadly looked to the son of Elrond's face, who gradually nodded and turned away.

"We will have no help from inside," Aragorn spoke out wisely, looking at Elladan but talking to them all. "We must not be seen. We cannot risk forfeiting our lives for our own grief for others." His head was half-bowed along with those of the other elves, but now all eight of the fellowship turned and looked along the road towards the city.

"Well, there's nothing for it now," Gimli growled softly, voicing everyone's thoughts.

"What is your plan?" Éowyn asked. "I doubt that we shall be able to simply open the gates."

"No indeed," Aragorn inclined his head, smiling at Éowyn.

"Then how shall we open them?" Gimli grumbled in frustration and gestured violently. "They will only open to their own people."

"Quite true," Aragorn said, still wearing a half-smile. "So, if the elves among us are willing to conceal themselves in the black robes of the Dark Elves, they shall be allowed to pass through." His eyes shifted to the brethren. A sly smirk was rising up Legolas' face.

"Estel, mellon nín," he laughed, "you never cease to amaze me with your ranger tricks."

"May that remain so for the rest of the night, if it heartens you," Aragorn replied, while he and the others sought out the long black cloaks of the Dark Elves. "Those of us in the Fellowship of the Ring still have our elvish cloaks from Lothlórien," reminded Aragorn. "And Elrohir and Elladan are similarly clad, while Faramir is also wearing his camouflaged ranger garb. Thus if Elrohir and Elladan pass their cloaks to Éowyn and Éomer, as we progress along the road, we should slip unseen past their eyes."

Elladan and Elrohir consented to play the deceit and subsequently there were three elves clad in black soon standing among a group just as hidden in the darkness.

"What do you expect there to be inside?" Éomer asked as he rearranged his new cloak which was slightly tight around his neck.

Aragorn shifted uncomfortably. "I do not know," he admitted. "Perhaps it is better that way, for otherwise we may not have the will to seek entry. Yet I would guess at there being many orcs at the very least, not only the Dark Elves."

"What will we do when we are let in?" Elrohir asked from the depths of his black robes. The hoods were so long that not even their faces were visible, and so their blue or green eyes were not betrayed.

"Once you are inside, if your disguise is at all doubted, immediately commence battle, and we shall slip in and join you. If that happens, you should expect to be swamped, so be prepared. We will then head for the citadel as quickly and stealthily as possible. In my mind, I am sure that it is there we will find…" Aragorn could not bring himself to speak Arwen's name. "That is where the Dark Elves will take command," he said instead. A frown settled on his brow and Aragorn looked thoughtful.

"We had better go at once," Faramir advised. "Are you ready?" Legolas bowed his head.

"Are we well concealed?" Gimli questioned his elf-friend, adding, "I do not trust this elvish magic."

"Mellon nín, you will make an elf yet," Legolas laughed. "Namarië."

With that he ran off at a high speed down the road, flanked by Elrohir and Elladan. So light and silent were their steps and such were the elegant ripples in their vast billowing black cloaks that after a few moments the remaining five companions wondered if three Dark Elves were indeed fleeing from their attack.

"Come, quickly!" Faramir urged them. Now he quietly hurried after them, side by side with the faintest shadow of Aragorn, while unseen Éowyn and Éomer came behind, and lastly Gimli, anxiously tiptoeing and leaping like a ballerina, attempting with his dear heart to accomplish the footsteps of elves to match his hidden form.

"Be quiet, Gimli!" Aragorn threw a hiss back. Gimli sighed in vexation but dutifully continued behind where he assumed the others were without a word in his gruff voice.

Ahead, the three elves began calling out to the guards at the gates in their distinguished clear elven voices.

"Open up! Let us in!"

"We have been attacked! Hurry, before we are pursued!"

Elrohir even cried out in the Black Speech of Mordor, having studied it in his father's old books. The others prayed that the disguise was adequate, keeping their eyes on the three shadows drawing close to the tall gates.

When a chink suddenly appeared between the gates and they cranked apart, relief unified with horror poured into the heart of Aragorn. He fled after the three strong-hearted elves, hastening urgently in order to be right behind when they were sucked inside the corrupted city, to where Arwen was locked at its epicentre. As he passed under the archway, he felt as if he was descending into cold defiled water, not unlike the Paths of the Dead, and shuddered despite knowing his friends were all around him and his loved one before him.

The three elves soon melted into the darkness of the entrance to the unlit streets of Minas Morgul. The walls were guarded by a rabble of orcs, many of whom descended to tend the three apparent Dark Elves. However one Dark Elf reached them first.

"What is it? What happened at the bridge? I saw some torches which were not your own."

Aragorn crept up to him, unnoticed, and prepared to kill him, but when he was on the point of doing so, he saw one of his masked friends shake their heads, so for the moment he refrained.

"We were attacked," the voice of Legolas spoke out. "Tell them up at the citadel; more are coming."

"Yes," Elrohir joined in. "Hurry, now! Bring out all of our kin; we must be ready. Muster the army and make sure they assemble for battle down here."

The Dark Elf, whose red eyes were just visible shining under his black hood, nodded and trembled. "Of course, I will inform the Master right away, his plans must not be ruined."

With that he ran off.

"Wai-" Legolas called out. He then turned back to the other two cloaked elves. "Do we follow him?" he whispered.

At that point, there was a commotion as Gimli (recognisable by his heavy intake of breath as his toe was stepped on) collided with Éomer, due to their inability to see each other. Gimli had apparently jabbed Éomer in the stomach with one corner of his axe and Éomer let out a howl. The surrounding orcs spun round and distrustfully began to call out to each other.

"Now!" shouted Faramir's voice above the cries of the orcs. Instantly he, Aragorn and Éowyn ran forward to slay the orcs, happily protected from sight and so for the present having an easy and satisfying battle. Legolas joined in willingly, subtly drawing close to the orcs and out of sight stabbing them with his white knives. Gimli and Éomer were momentarily stumbling around cursing each other, but Elladan and Elrohir remained near their grumbles in case any orcs worked out where they were.

With the yowls of the dying orcs and shrieks of shock from the perplexed onlookers, greater numbers flooded in to the atrium of the city and Aragorn began to struggle to slay the orcs jumping down from the walls. However he could no longer hear mutterings from Gimli and Éomer so he presumed that they were still safe, if discontented.

Slaying the enemy, Aragorn listened to Faramir shouting out as he stabbed other orcs, but this was then halted by a resounding cry of pain from Éowyn. Aragorn swivelled round fearfully and began to go back to where he saw a shadow lying on the ground, but then he saw two Dark Elves draw near to her.

"Take her," Faramir said to them, worry echoing in his hollow voice. "Keep her safe."

"Go!" Aragorn shouted to the brethren, taking Faramir by the arm and steering him back to the orcs which were leaping down on them. As he swirled Andúril about, flashing in the air, he brought Éomer and Faramir together.

"We must go quickly, before more come," Éomer told him, spearing an orc in the throat and then another in the arm.

Legolas suddenly appeared at Aragorn's side, his blue eyes shimmering in his pale face under the hood which was slipping back. "The Dark Elves will begin to come down here soon; we must not still be here when that happens."

"Go, with Gimli," Aragorn urged. "We will follow, but we must not leave any here alive now they know of our presence."

Legolas paused, his arm round the neck of an orc. "You are certain?" he asked.

"Yes!" Aragorn shouted, slicing the torso off the orc, so that Legolas was left holding only the head. "Please, go!"

"Good luck to you, laddie," Gimli growled, elbowing Legolas. Following the tumble of the orc's head, Aragorn glanced down, not having noticed the dwarf at his side. Legolas glanced around and then grasped Gimli's shoulder.

"Come," he said, using his disguise to pass unhindered between the orcs.

"Just so you know, Aragorn," Gimli shouted back determinedly, "It is most disheartening being told you are not quiet, and it was because I was concentrating so hard on being even quieter than you that I ran into Éomer!"

"Shh!" Legolas hissed, having trouble trying to protect the dwarf who was keener on shouting at Aragorn than keeping his head on his own shoulders.

"I forgive you, Gimli; now go!" Éomer shouted back exasperatedly. Aragorn, Faramir and even Éomer ushered the pair away, still fighting furiously. While their bodies were camouflaged, their swords were not, and so their work was not as easy as at the start. But soon even Gimli's complaints were no longer audible under the clashing of swords, which was both comforting and demoralising, for while there was hope that at least five of them would make their way through the city uncaught, the presence of friends in a dark enemy land is always mightily welcomed.

But by the time the gate orcs were all slain and the three wearied men were running along the walls, keeping to the shadows and searching for their friends, they found that having acquired entry to the terrible city they were now quite alone in the dark formidable streets of labyrinthine Minas Morgul.


	27. The Ascent to the KnifeEdge

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27. The Ascent to the Knife-Edge

A flicker of jade green, Aragorn ran stealthily up the narrow dark alleyway, ignoring the loathsome squeaking of surging vermin around his padding feet. Where the crevice opened out into a gorge-like street heaving with a swell of black orcs he turned around and awaited Éomer and Faramir. However, such was Aragorn's elven cloak that Éomer ran straight past him, turning left, and Faramir, close behind, swerved right, as if Aragorn was a cold shadow to be subconsciously circumnavigated.

"Éomer!" He caught Faramir by the arm in the nick of time and heaved a sigh of relief as the King of Rohan also halted and retraced his steps.

"There you are," Éomer said, "why have you stopped? Let us continue up the main road, to the citadel. It is the quickest way to reach it."

"No," Faramir turned between Aragorn and Éomer. "There are too many of them, and the Dark Elves will fill the main road. We should cross over, and slip up the side streets."

"That is too slow," Éomer protested.

"Far from it, we shall find a more direct route," Faramir insisted. He looked pleadingly at the substantial shadow that was Aragorn.

The King of Gondor paused, then strode out into the road and turned right, striding off downhill.

Astounded, Éomer leapt after his outline. "What are you doing?" Faramir called out softly but fervently, timidly glancing around. "You are going the wrong way!" he cried exasperatedly.

Aragorn spun round. "And what do you propose we do when we reach the citadel? There will be hundreds of Dark Elves seething around, outside if not inside, far too thick to penetrate; thousands of armed orcs eager for a fight barring our way in. And Valar knows what else. We cannot breach entry to the citadel from the main gates."

"Well… what else do you propose?" Éomer questioned him unsurely. As if an understanding occurred to Faramir, a slight smile tweaked his lips.

Aragorn paused, and then spoke. "I cannot explain it fully now, so you will have to give me your trust in blind faith. I know that the Dark Elves have found the Lost Again Stair in Minas Tirith, which leads from the bottom of the city all the way up to my very bed chamber in the heart of the citadel, beneath the White Tower of Ecthelion. Both cities, Minas Anor and Minas Ithil, were built at the same time, by the hands of the same people, by the same basic design. And so I have reason to believe that if we find an entrance to this stairway, we will have a direct route into the centre of the citadel, avoiding its encircling ranks altogether."

Faramir kept nodding slowly, but Éomer simply stared at Aragorn with an incalculable expression. "How do you know where the entrance is?" he suddenly asked. Aragorn's eyes flew over to Éomer's. For a moment, the other two men thought that they had found the catch in Aragorn's plan, but then he smiled.

"Under an ancient willow tree."

This time, they were lost for words.

"Come!" Aragorn laughed softly. "You do not believe me? Why else is there a number of great willows throughout Minas Tirith? Why else is there one in the royal garden in the low levels? Why else was Arwen drawn to its mystery from the time she first laid eyes on it?"

Faramir's nodding merged circularly into shaking.

"It sounds illogical, but I trust you," Éomer muttered. "May the Valar be with your reasoning."

"There will be one on this level," Aragorn informed them, relieved at their assent. "Let us search now. Once we find it, we will be much closer to leaving this dreadful place."

xxxxxx

"Hurry…" Three dark silhouettes darted under the gawping shadows of the defiled stone buildings and hurried nervously away from the groups of scurrying orcs brandishing arms. One of them stopped, turning. "Are you all right?" he asked, his pale pallor contrasting with the sable hood around his face. The elf held out a hand to another.

"I can walk," the voice of a woman said firmly. Éowyn's golden locks had slipped out from under cover of the green elven cloak she was draped in but after disentangling herself from the support of the other elf she swiftly disappeared out of sight, like the thin waning moon vanishing from the night sky.

Elladan seemed unsure whether to totally let Éowyn go. "Let me see your wound," he pleaded, dropping to his knees, but the maiden of Rohan quickly grasped his shoulder.

"No, please," she begged. "It's not much, really… I was weak-minded. The pain is less now. I shall not burden you any further."

The elf looked up at his brother.

"Come," Elrohir said, giving him a hand up. "We have made good progress, since we hid in that peculiar house filled with red eyes. We have climbed a long way."

"I know," Elladan muttered, having half-carried Éowyn up the steep roads.

"Will we not wait for Faramir and Legolas and the others?" Éowyn asked hesitantly.

"No," Elrohir said, albeit not with entire conviction. His blue eyes flickered over to his brother's. "I think we should press on. The sooner we find Arwen, the sooner we can leave."

"But we must find them, or they will think that she is still in there," Éowyn said worriedly.

"We will come to that if the time comes," Elladan muttered grimly, his downcast expression not quite concealed by the grey shadow from his Dark Elf's hood. "Ai!" he murmured, meeting Éowyn's forlorn eyes when Elrohir comfortingly drew close to his side. "I hope we are not too late. My heart is already breaking, to understand that she is in this dreadful place."

He raised his eyes in vain to the towering buildings, once white, now grey and blackened and illuminated with a deathly glow from satanic beacons thrust out from the split walls. All around were signs of death and torturous forms of life; bones at the edge of the roads, mud and grime layering the cobbles, crusty manacles heavily dangling down to the ground, half-decomposed limbs reaching out at their feet.

"She will not have to suffer it for much longer," Éowyn said bravely, straightening up. She gave the two elves a weak smile. "We shall not wait, nor make her wait. I will be wounded thrice over again and endure ten times as much pain before I even begin to despair."

"You have a bold heart, Éowyn," Elrohir admired. "I am sure my brother would thank you for your words, if he were not so encompassed in fear. Yet we do have hope, for by lucky chance we may pass unquestioned as Dark Elves, and if you keep between us, the cloak shall assemble your form as nothing more than a shadow."

"It is so dark in here that no one will even see that," Elladan sighed.

Elrohir laughed, a warming sound encouraging for the soul in such a dismal place. "Oh come, take heart! Let us go." In a swish of cloaks, they had indeed melted into the ever nearer black heart of Minas Morgul.

xxxxxx

"Where are we?" Gimli grumbled. A wheeze followed a loud puff as he halted, grabbing a cold stone pillar and doubling over. When he looked up, there was still no answer. "Where are _you_?" he adjusted his question.

A shadow rapidly swept towards him out of the darkness and a white mask-like face flared up in front of Gimli's eyes. Expelling a cry he leapt backwards as if he had come face-to-face with a rearing snake.

"Good gracious, Legolas, no need to give me a fright!" The dwarf clasped his chest and persisted wheezing.

The elf knelt down before him and anxiously washed a concerned assessing glance over his heaving form. "Are you all right, Gimli?" he asked softly.

The dwarf waved a hand in Legolas' face. "What does it look like?" he snorted, and subsequently choked. Pointing a finger at his friend's black chest, he said, "You have just run up this entire city, forgetting that I am not a dainty-footed elf who has spend countless years under the sun hopping up grassy hills and climbing trees. I just need to catch my breath."

Legolas stood up and raised an eyebrow. "I thought after running across Rohan this would be a piece of cake for you," he commented.

Gimli growled. "Yes, well, it's made much harder by the fact I can hardly see you." He narrowed his eyes at the elf accusingly. "You hardly stand out from the darkness at all! You make no sound, and you don't smell much of flowers - although this place does have a contrasting pungent odour," Gimli added. Oblivious to Legolas' soft laughter, he said, "It does not help matters by you dressed up as a Dark Elf! When we are expecting to see hordes of them, and I am all on edge, I find it most difficult. You elves, you all look much the same."

Gimli glanced down, readjusting his belt, but at that last accusation, quite reasonably offensive to an elf, particularly when likened to a Dark Elf, Legolas shot him a piercing look. He opened his mouth, but then decided that it would not make much difference. Indeed, Dark Elf or not, to Gimli, a short-sighted dwarf with little attention to or care for faces or mannerisms, elves _did_ all look like brothers from the same family.

"It's the eyes," Legolas said dryly, half closing his blue pair as they bore coldly into Gimli's brown set. By scathingly staring at the dwarf, he expected the compliant reply to be something like, "oh yes, so it is," but instead he remarked,

"Really? No, they all look frightening to me." Gimli shuddered. "Stop doing that, laddie, right away! You never used to look at me like that. You really are behaving like one of them."

At that Legolas blinked and shivered. He immediately turned his head away. "Sorry." He fingered the edge of the hood uneasily.

"Well?" Gimli proposed to him.

"Well what?" Legolas looked back round.

"Where are we?! I asked you ages ago! Are you going to tell me or leave me to find my way around this labyrinth of orc-festered damp-smelling blood-splattered streets without a map?"

Legolas straightened up haughtily. "We are at the doors to the citadel," he hissed.

"All right, all right, no need to say it as if everyone knows that," Gimli said hurriedly. He strained around the pillar and looked up at the great gates. "Of course," he muttered and nodded to himself. "Just the place." He eyed the intimidating front with an ounce of fear quivering through his body. This did not pass unnoticed.

"Do not fret; I look just like one of them."

"But I do not!" said Gimli exasperatedly. "It is fine for you, but I am not volunteering myself to be killed by one of those unnatural Dark Elves. They give me the shivers." As if to demonstrate this, Gimli grimaced and stepped back behind the protection of Legolas' body. "Would you want to swap positions with me?"

"Your height and stature would not allow it," Legolas said wittily, receiving a withering look. "Be brave, Gimli! You ventured into the Paths of the Dead. This is not quite underground… although it may be similar. I do not know. But what I do know is that if you stay beside me, I shall protect you, and I have faith, even if you may not, in that elven cloak around your shoulders. This place is made of stone, and you will blend in as if you were my own shadow."

Gimli's mind was changed and he smiled, walking forward and giving Legolas a sideways glance as the elf joined in his step across the open courtyard to the huge doors and lowered his hood.

"I'd like to see your shadow stout and broad," he laughed under his breath, slipping behind Legolas. He let out a soft hoot of pain as he was elbowed in the shoulder.

"Remember what I could do, dwarf," Legolas muttered. Behind him, Gimli obediently nodded, compliant to observance of the elf's power.

xxxxxx

Faramir sighed and took a few steps towards the crimped dry branches of a withered tree. There were no leaves, except for the crispy dust which his feet scuffed, and a few twigs snagged and broke on his shoulders as he stepped underneath. "If you do not mind me saying, Aragorn, I am starting to doubt your ranger cunning." He reached out to stroke the bark of the ancient plant, which was so coarse to his fingers that he withdrew them as if they were fire, immediately nursing the grazes.

"And if I were not a King myself, I would not dare to even voice my opinion that your sanity is now a debatable matter," Éomer mused. Yet despite himself, he walked straight under the thin curtain of jagged branches and paced around the thick trunk of the tree. "You are sure it is this one?" he shot at Aragorn, who promptly nodded.

"I may not have elven eyes, but my perception was nurtured to attentiveness when I grew up in Rivendell. This crack is large enough to be of significance. All it needs now is the password, as it is with dwarvish entrances." He stopped in front of a great fold in the tree's thick wood, dull grey, sprinkled with black flecks, but glittering palely. "Old Man Willow," he muttered quietly.

"And what would that be?" Faramir questioned, coming to stand behind him. Aragorn edged forward, squarely resting each hand on either side of the thick unmoving wrinkle in the tree's weathered skin.

"Ele, tatharmen! (Behold, path of the willow!) I am King of Gondor! Open the way for the King!" Aragorn bowed his head, tightly closing his eyes, sighing and hoping that his grasp of elvish power, meagre in comparison to that of the other elves in their company, was enough, and fiercely willing himself to master Arwen's endless astute skill in elven magic.

But he did not need to call her power to him. Beneath his fingertips, he felt the rough tickling as the bark began to edge apart, before he felt the weight of the tree's mass shift like a tide under his palms, and he opened his eyes to the gasp of Éomer. They watched, amazed, as a crevice opened up freely to them, with deep rumbles trembling in the air and the branches quivering tentatively. A puff of silvery dust flew out and sparkled in front of Aragorn's nose before wafting upwards into the black air. They continued to stand there, silent, awestruck, listening for any sound from below. Then Aragorn gave a sigh of relief.

"I bow to you, elf-friend and liege-lord," Faramir said humbly, bending low.

"You need not bow," Aragorn said, halting his friend with a grim smile, "unless it is to climb inside. I have not achieved anything yet, and I have not saved her. I have merely done what I had thought out plainly before we even journeyed here. I could not have made it to this point without you, my companions." He rested a hand on each of Faramir and Éomer's shoulders. "Whatever we may meet at the other end, do not forget this. I am eternally in your debt."

Faramir smiled.

"After you," gestured Éomer. "Whatever you say, whether it is Galadriel, Elrond, his sons, Legolas, or Arwen herself, who has taught you the power of the elves, I praise you alone. And while we will not leave your side, it is you who must guide the way, for you heart alone can lead us there."

xxxxxx

As they came closer to the front of the citadel, dominant and rearing up in terrifying power, the two Dark Elves guarding its heavily bolted doors glued their fiery eyes on Legolas. If he was worried, he did not show it. Gimli was inwardly cursing, both himself for allowing himself to get into such an unthinkable position, and for forcing himself to rely on hiding behind an elf while relying on other elves' magic, as well as for his quaking limbs. Huddling behind his friend's body, he muttered thanks over and over in his head as each second came without him being caught. He was forced to shuffle hurriedly forward because Legolas was taking strong confident strides straight up to the door.

"May I have entry?" he asked aloofly as he came to a standstill. Behind, inches away from Legolas' black cloak, Gimli pricked up his ears harder than he ever had before. For the first time in his life, he wished he had the deft abilities of an elf.

"For what reason are you expected within?" came the voice of one of the guards. The icy tones sliced the cold air and filled the pair's ears with shivers.

"I have come due to a certain prisoner held inside. You… know who I mean."

Legolas, unknown to the fearful trusting dwarf behind him, now clasping a handful of his robes, could not see the faces of the Dark Elves. So low was his hood over his eyes, so that his identity was not revealed, that he could only watch their lower bodies. He hoped that his eloquent words would earn him an exit from their unsettling presence. Their torsos twisted, indicating that the Dark Elves were exchanging glances.

After a short time they spoke. "Yes, you may go in. The Master has ordered for our kin to be prepared for battle in order to defend what is to be done tonight, but if he has granted you entry, then you shall join the rite."

At these words, Legolas' heart flew into his dry mouth and he knew he would stutter so he could only incline his head and hope that this was convincing enough. He walked forward again, except with smaller steps, feeling the scuffle of his friend at his heels, and watching the massive doors open out from the cavern gaping behind. Bless him, Gimli tried, but Legolas really did need to teach him a thing or two about being nimble-footed. If only they could pass through the doors without his presence being spotted. But again and again, the words of the guard resounded in his head. _Rite…_ what were they doing to Arwen? _What is to be done tonight…_ what evil would be spread if they were too late? Was the entirety of Middle-Earth laid in the hands of him and Gimli? What would he do if when he arrived there she was… he could even speak it in his head… What would he do if all his friends were ambushed? How would Gimli and he know?

An earth-rending clangour ricocheted off what had to be a hollow stone bowl from the tremendous sound and it blew away Legolas' delicate ears. His steps ceased while he tried to regain any hearing. When the roaring of the doors fell away, slowly peculiar unnerving sounds became more prominent, sobbing, cries of pain, chokes of breaths.

"Are we safe?" Legolas turned round to face Gimli and they both pulled back their hoods.

"What place is this?" Legolas quizzed his friend anxiously, without expecting a real answer. There was little lighting – it was not obvious where the dim glow came from, but a distasteful grey mist seemed to hover in the air around them and a nasty smell rose up, like that at the scene of a bloody battle.

Slowly, as their eyes became accustomed to the gloom, Legolas and Gimli began to pick out the shapes of skeletal people, arms stretched out in pain or vain hope, the rings of manacles hanging down from the roof, racks on which to squeeze and stretch and break bones, and the heap of what could only be guessed to be corpses.

"We can't go back," Gimli murmured, also voicing Legolas' thoughts. He however walked silently forward, before lowering his head, pulling up his hood and muttering a prayer in elvish.

"It's a living tomb," he whispered to the dwarf over his shoulder. Gimli cautiously approached him.

"That I am not convinced of. Could there be any alive after this?" The two of them looked uneasily around at the haunting spectacle materialising out of the darkness before them.

"Where are the guards?" Legolas said, suddenly spotting the oddity. "Surely they would not just leave two at the doors?"

"Maybe they do things differently to the prison in your elven halls, Legolas," Gimli said under his breath. Just as the elf turned, there was a rustle from over to their side, and the pair froze. They spotted off in the gloom some shapes moving from behind a wide pillar. Slowly the shape of a man crawled forward, holding out to the elf bound hands which were attached to a chain which clinked as he moved.

"Please, don't pass by," he called out to them quietly. They saw his pleading eyes shining with fretful tears.

Startled, Gimli frenziedly tapped Legolas' elbow, and the elf bent down to allow him to speak quickly in his ear. "Legolas, how does he know? You look just like a Dark Elf. Why does he not cower back, away from you?"

Legolas paused, thinking, and then said, "At times when sight fails, you will understand how elves appear as a brilliant white light in the greyness of the mind." He then knelt at the man's side.

"Are you injured, friend?" he asked, distinguishing his ragged clothes and ill appearance from the impenetrable shadows lying about.

The man, who now wore a strained smile on his lean face, said, "No… well yes, but I can cope with that. There are others who need your help now. You are Legolas Greenleaf?"

"Yes," said Legolas, bowing his head assertively. "And this is Gimli son of Glóin."

"Then perhaps you will aid me when I say I am Beregond, also a friend of King Elessar."

"Indeed," mused Legolas. "But we would do all we could whoever you were. We know of your capture by the Dark Elves; tell us all else you know."

"With me are others whom they have taken hostage," Beregond said readily. "This evening they were brought in, and were all tied round this pillar so that they cannot move. I heard you ask why there are no guards in here. It is because they have all gone to the High Court chamber, or else outside to gather arms. A messenger passed by not long ago; he said there were people outside the city. Was that you?"

Gimli and Legolas exchanged glances. "Yes," Gimli said, with a devious smile. "But obviously he did not know we were inside."

"Good," Beregond replied. "Because I have learned that Arwen Undómiel was also brought here at the same time, but she was not kept here with the rest of us."

"Where is she?" Legolas asked urgently, his eyes now rounding into fear.

"She was taken into the room at the end of this hall, the council chamber, where the Dark Elves usually take meet. But I am afraid, for from what the Dark Elves have said, I believe that she must be in the High Court, where most of them are."

"What do they mean to do?" Gimli asked, stunned.

Beregond shook his head sadly. "I do not know." He fell silent.

"We will go there now," Legolas informed the former guard of the citadel. "I regret that we cannot help you all, but we promised Aragorn that we would do all we could for her."

Beregond nodded understandingly. "But will you return? There are four of us who need you. Please do not abandon us here."

"I cannot say for sure what we will be able to do," Legolas said cautiously, "but I tell you now that if our friends come to our aid, then for sure I will try to come back and rescue you all."

"Thank you," Beregond whispered, coughing and wiping his brow dejectedly.

"Come Gimli, we must hurry." Legolas turned to Gimli, only now revealing the tears of distress glimmering in his elven-blue eyes. His breath shuddered in the cold air. "In lingering it is not only us who are likely to be caught."


	28. The Black Heart

Thank you to everyone who is reviewing! I hope you keep reading and enjoy the story even more as it reaches the exciting part (not that the rest isn't exciting...) I look forward to any comments you have to make!

28. The Black Heart

Up the road leading to the citadel, two elves cloaked in black hurried, lightly running towards the high-walled part of the sublimely forbidding city. Just before they reached the threatening crown, they halted beside a pillar and after peering round it huddled together.

"We have taken long enough already," the voice of Elrohir emanated from under his black hood. "Dark Elves are milling around everywhere up in the courtyard."

"Where do we go from here?" Elladan asked.

"We will blend in, but I think it is wise to surreptitiously find a side entrance. Then we can have a look around and work out what to do without having to hold up our pretence."

"There are lights in some windows at the far end of the first hall," Éowyn informed them, boldly standing in the centre of the road with full trust in the elven cloak. "Perhaps we should look in there."

The elves assented to the plan and having agreed to stick close together they mounted the brink of the hill and saw a large flat open up before their feet with many hooded Dark Elves swarming around like a constantly rippling cloth of black velvet. The brethren furtively kept their heads down and resolutely made their course down the outer side of the long hall while Éowyn stayed in the flapping wake of their lengthy robes.

The huge drooping eyes of the citadel blared out into the night, with the piercing power of white light yet with the unsettlingly heavy injection of green. Mirages of green eels crawled and leapt around their feet and the elves and Éowyn hurried with the unease of wading through a stagnant sea. The light seemed alive as it wound about their ankles and flared up suddenly in places which had just been in darkness. Breathless the three cloaked companions fled over to the first lit window and pressed their bodies tight against the wall beneath it, watching for a moment the tumultuous body of Dark Elves moving incessantly in front of them, with the whole of Minas Morgul at their feet, and the core of its power at their backs.

With bated breath Éowyn craned her neck to look up at the panes which were alight and glowing, but Elrohir quickly grabbed her arm. Her silhouette was exposed in its beam of portentous light and the skill of the elven cloak was laid powerless.

"Be careful," he whispered heatedly, shading his eyes with his hand to steal glances across the scene before them. So far, he and his brother had passed in their disguise, yet Elrohir's dismay at the potency of the Dark Elves over the elven cloak was clear.

Elladan decided to drive forward their progress and drew closer to Éowyn. "If I jump up and open the window, will you consent to us helping you?"

The maiden of Rohan assented, but when Elladan sat crouched on the edge of the ledge, she speedily climbed up all by herself. Shocked, Elladan was nudged by Éowyn through the window, and as she slid down after him, Elrohir leapt up and closed the window, before quickly dropping down to the floor in case they were noticed, like leap-frogs over a green pond.

Cautiously they scanned the chamber in which they had entered. A ring of stone chairs was set in the centre, broken only by one in particular: a kingly throne set upon a dais. There were four doors at each side of the room, all black and bolted.

Elladan walked slowly across towards the chairs and Elrohir started to follow, when quite unexpectedly Éowyn saw Elladan's body jerk and he stumbled as he slipped upon the floor. While he did manage to catch himself just in time, his brother looked utterly astounded and even Éowyn knew how unusual it was for an elf to make such a human mistake. She held her breath and watched, stunned, as Elladan very slowly stooped down and fixed his gaze at something on the dark floor.

"What did you trip on?" she breathed, drawing to his side. His brother wore a peculiar frown on his face.

Elladan stretched out his slender fingers and touched a black bundle which before had been totally invisible to her eyes, and seemingly to the elves too. He gently pinched it between his thumbs and forefingers and raised up a fluid blue-black cloak which shimmered and rippled in his breath. Elladan's eyes were now melting into pools of tears and his brother lowered his head to mutter something in elvish. As Éowyn gazed at the fluttering dark material, soft and slight, gradually revealing pinpricks of white like little stars behind a grey veil of cloud, realisation came to her, or rather she recognised to whom it belonged.

Suddenly there was a thunderous boom, dull as if muffled by the thick walls of stone, but the very floor shook and the cloak quivered in front of their eyes. The brothers sharply looked up and Elrohir turned towards a door on their right.

"What is it?" Éowyn asked again. Elladan climbed to his feet, stowing Arwen's cloak for safety inside his own clothes, beneath the stolen attire. The rumbling continued as if it was pounding the roof above them.

"The sound is coming from in there," Elrohir discerned, with his voice discordant to his normally cool exterior. "But I fear; I do not know what devilry it is."

"Nay," Elladan said. "Look; I can see something through that doorway." He pointed towards one on the opposite side of the hall, where through cracks veins of green light pierced the darkness and glowed upon the shining stone floor, as if the force of the sound had pushed the bar back and the doors apart.

Elladan swiftly went over to the doors where the light was being cast and tentatively pulled them open wider. He gasped and leapt back as a burst of luminous light shot into the room and banished any shadow with a loud crackling. A room blazing full of scores of fires was revealed, with lofty flames shooting up like devouring snakes, seething and flickering hypnotically. But what was more frightening than their sheer size and number was their colour, a vivid green like the venom of a sea-serpent, poisonous and terrifying, yet so bright and eye-catching that it was unavoidable. The blare almost swallowed up their sight entirely. As Elrohir cried out over the snapping of the fires and ran forward to shut the doors, Elladan distantly noticed a staircase at the back of the room, climbing up to the right above the curling green flames.

"We should not go in there unless we must," Elrohir hissed to his brother, his eyes shining in both fear and urgency. "There is some darkness in those fires which makes them glow that colour. The sight of them freezes my bones, while my spirit shrinks back from the fierce heat. The Dark Elves have devised some sorcery which I doubt even Ada could master; we cannot try. Let us look elsewhere; the sound is still coming from that direction."

He led his brother over to where Éowyn was waiting and as softly as she could she drew back the lock and pulled the door back an inch. While she stared in, wide-eyed, Elrohir looked over her head. Silent, they surveyed a cavernous circular chamber filled with a hundred Dark Elves, all drawn towards a stone table in its very centre. Upon this altar, surrounded by dancing green flames, the body of one they loved so much lay illuminated in green. Everywhere was shrouded in this hideous light; it perpetrated the unending night of the city from the point of the ceiling so high above, where a noxious spark was burning and growing with every second.

They trembled unable to breathe as they fixated their sight on Arwen's white face, the smattering of blood over her body, and the dark fan of hair upon the gleaming grey rock. Her eyes were closed; glistening trickles of tears ran down each side. The thunder from the beam of green light was overpowering, but from all around the hiss of excited voices intoxicated the air. Éowyn, Elrohir and Elladan shrank bank, petrified. Tears were rolling down Éowyn's cheeks.

"Alas!" wept Elladan, pulling the others back with shaking hands in order to shield them from the sight blazoned in their minds. "What can we do? To see her alone, there, exceeds what my spirit can bear."

"I am afraid…" Éowyn whispered, staring horrified at the door and unable to move.

"I fear for Arwen," Elrohir murmured. "I cannot believe it! Nay, we are so close to losing her! I can feel it in the air; the shivers of her breath are like the tremulous wings of her soul, fluttering to break free. It makes my own blood curdle, to see hers pooled there, its richness laid to waste, having been spilled so needlessly. I feel like I am trapped in a dream like when I was very young, except this is real. Only on beholding her now can I comprehend truly what the destruction of the One Ring meant. It is loss which I fear most, the loss of that which I love, so dearly my life would be barren without her!"

"We must hurry," Éowyn reminded him. "I do not know what ought to be done, but I cannot bear this waiting! It is horrible waiting for the inevitable, but to be on the other side, and know that you delayed when you could have done something - that would break my heart."

Elrohir looked up at his brother.

"Is there a way?" Éowyn asked persistently. "Surely you can do something? But tell me what to do, and I will. The Dark Elves may install fear in me, but that is nothing compared to that which I fear for Arwen." She watched, desperate to comprehend, as the brothers' eyes glinted.

"Perhaps there is one," Elladan sighed, looking away. "Yet it is risky."

"It will have to do!" cried Éowyn.

"Yes, it is hard," Elrohir agreed. "Elven powers advance beyond your comprehension, and yet when pitched against an equal, who can say which will prevail in the first and only battle, at that one moment which matters?"

"Not I, but instead I say this: one small chance triumphs over resignation. One thought, one act of resilience, one struggle has been known to change the course of events in Middle-Earth's fate. Something small can in turn make something big. So," said Elladan, sighing, "we must do all that we can."

"What can I do?" asked Éowyn.

"We must find a way to protect Arwen from the power of the Dark Elves, and that involves halting the striking of the green fire upon her," Elrohir spoke more quickly now, for the rumbling was growing louder. "That must be done by using Arwen's sword to pierce its flames, because it is her who must be saved. It must be done by one who loves Arwen, because it is for those she loves that she has chosen this life. Arwen's name must be spoken at the point of incision, but only in the manner of a lover, because only that can turn her soul as it braces itself for departure. It is a far-fetched hope, far beyond any incantation or charm which we have ever performed before, and yet it must be tried. Éowyn, we must rely on you for the first part: you need to acquire Arwen's sword."

"But how?" Éowyn said apprehensively.

"You are concealed in the elven cloak," Elladan commented. "The Dark Elves are far too concerned about Arwen rather than you. I am convinced the sword lies inside that room. We have found her cloak here, so it is likely that the sword is in there."

"It would not surprise me that some of her wounds were made at the mercy of her own sword," Elrohir scowled.

"I shall await you on the outside of the circle, in case the tables should turn on our wretched fate. Come back with it as soon as you can." Elladan silently pulled opened the door and stood back for Éowyn.

She took a deep breath. The very air seemed to be shaking with the vibrations from the stone-cracking grumbles of the green bolt of fire, and it set her nerves on edge. But her eyes were drawn into the darkness, into the steady glow upon the altar, and Éowyn knew there was no turning back.

Her sight shrank as the surrounding blackness starved the light. Tall figures stood all around, like rocky islands in a dark sea, all motionless, but in the atmosphere it felt as if they were each contributing to a fierce current. Éowyn crept towards the edge of the circle and chose a gap between two Dark Elves. While her entrance passed unnoticed, she still felt as if she was a sapphire amidst a chest of rubies, and she shrank into herself, hoping that if she was smaller, her presence would be less easily found. Éowyn had heard tales about elves, but in truth had no idea whether they could see past mere sight. The chance reverberated restlessly in her mind as she slipped between billowy black cloaks and she held her breath when she squeezed through a narrow opening. But even when she was convinced that she had touched them, and repulsiveness had coursed icily up from the patch of skin in question, they made no sign. The Dark Elves were oblivious to her.

Éowyn was totally perplexed. She had crept close to the inner circle now, where they were bathed in an incandescent lime light, and on looking back she saw hundreds of pairs of red eyes gleaming towards her. Immediately Éowyn dropped down to the floor, fearing that she had been seen; but they made no sound or movement. Uneasily she turned back and her eyes were drawn up to the hissing spit of green-white fire in the air. Then she realised that the voices of the Dark Elves were joined with it – or was it in her mind that she heard them chanting? Éowyn was swept up in confusion, but the immediacy of what was happening struck her mind. She realised that time was being lost very quickly.

Despite the entrancing light dancing upon the altar and Arwen's body, Éowyn refused to let her eyes wander there. Instead she crawled decisively along the cold stone floor between legs, towards the flame torches she saw at the base of the altar. As she did so, she caught sight of something glimmering and flickering, growing and shrinking. The light of flames was shimmering upon something, and Éowyn, staring with bated breath, realised that it was the blade of a sword. She hardly dared hope, but on wriggling closer, till she was lying next to the feet of a Dark Elf who installed the most impeding sense of dread upon her chest, she knew that the sword was Arwen's. The curved blade was of elven design, so elegant and slim, but Éowyn was so keen to reach out and press her fingertips on its hilt that she was sure that it was not one of the Dark Elves', for their weapons would be menacing and cruel.

On the point of pulling the sword towards her though, the thought suddenly occurred to Éowyn that it would make a grating sound across the floor. She craned her neck up to the Dark Elf, wondering if he would notice. His face was alight, the white skin glowing pale green and his eyes containing mirrors of the fires. The sternness in his glance and the intensity of his gaze caused Éowyn's blood to shudder in her veins. She saw there the same hatred and vengeance which had possessed the Lord of the Nazgûl on the day she had duelled him, something which she had never believed possible.

Only now, it was not her who was the prey.

Droplets of Arwen's red blood were resting on the metal blade, searing into Éowyn's eyes. Swiftly Éowyn swept her arm out over the sword, and, once covered with her cloak, she carefully lifted it up and drew it towards her body. Now looking back over her shoulder she began to slither backwards, lost in the shadows around their feet. Having attained the sword, Éowyn just wanted to get out and stop their enchantment once and for all. She was a little more reckless now, but the sound of the lightning was so voluminous that it was not dangerous. As the Dark Elves thinned out, Éowyn stood up again, albeit stooped, and held the sword down the length of her body. It was brought back to her thought when she moved and a dampness pressed against her thigh; the blood. She gasped and hurried, slipping between them faster, before leaving the Dark Elves altogether and running back towards the door as if they were verily pursuing her.

"Éowyn," the voice of Elladan whispered in shock. He softly opened the door wider and she scurried through. "Are you all right?"

"I have it," she said shakily, handing over the sword to Elrohir. Though the light was low in this council chamber, she beheld it thankfully, for the other was startlingly ominous.

The two elves praised her. "Come," Elrohir said. "Elladan is right, we must enter the next room and take the stairs; we believe they lead to the pinnacle. There we can strike the fire."

"Will you stand on guard for us?" Elladan asked her. "I only ask, if anyone comes our way, to hinder them, rather than put your life in danger. We just need time."

"Of course," Éowyn said, "I am pleased to do so."

The three of them walked over to the next door, keeping to the walls as if walking straight through the circle of chairs would awake some sleeping power. They were still cloaked and, when Elladan and Elrohir slipped through the door, the whispered wish of good luck seemed to come from nowhere to two Dark Elves.

xxxxxx

"What can you see?"

Legolas was bending down and peering through a keyhole into the next chamber, having jostled out the big key by picking at it with one of his arrows. While it was a perfect height for Gimli to look through, Legolas had by far the better sight, so Gimli had to contain his curiosity for a few torturous moments longer and resign to examining Legolas' eye intently. It flicked by fractions every few seconds and glowed green, rather than the sea blue which Gimli was normally accustomed to seeing. The elf blinked and shifted his position.

"There is the throne, and a ring of chairs. Some torches are alight in the walls, but they have green flames."

"But can we go in there? Is it safe?" Gimli interrogated him keenly.

"There are two Dark Elves in there," replied Legolas in his calm voice. At this Gimli instantly lowered his.

"How bad are they, Legolas?" he asked more ponderously. The elf continued to look through the keyhole, but his eyes ceased to contract. After a few seconds he pulled away and stood up straight.

"Imagine me as a servant on Sauron's side of the war," he said slowly.

"I wouldn't want you as an enemy," Gimli said hurriedly. Legolas smiled weakly.

"I wouldn't want you as an enemy," he said too. Gimli looked up at him. "Come, see the hope of our situation. I still have my disguise, and you have yours. The others may have found a way in already, and we may yet pass unseen. Even if we are discovered we are a good match in arms. If Arwen was dead, we would know it."

Gimli sighed and appeared downcast nonetheless. "The thing is, Legolas, I feel rather outnumbered, being surrounded by elves. Despite wearing this cloak of the Galadhrim, I still feel that I stick out like a sore thumb. I will only hinder our purpose."

"Gimli! Do not speak like that!" Legolas exclaimed. He put an arm around the dwarf's shoulders. "If it will make you follow me in there, I will give you some advice as to how to behave like an elf. But I would stick by you, dwarfish or elven characteristics."

This time Gimli seemed more uplifted. "Thank you, Legolas," he said. "But," he admitted, "that advice would not go amiss."

Legolas laughed softly. "On how to be quiet and watchful?" Gimli nodded. The elf laughed. Then on seeing the interruption on Gimli's lips, he said, "Do not worry, I will not tell anyone of your request. But it is all a matter of being at one with the world. If you believe you are a part of it, you can bring it about to your purpose."

Gimli looked totally lost, so Legolas rephrased. "Move in one continuous motion - lay down each foot like the swell of the sea. Shoot your glance as if it is an arrow. Breathe as if a cool wind is blowing off the woodland glade straight up into your body." Legolas halted. "Gimli?" he asked tentatively.

"Bah, elves," he sighed, waving him away dismissively. "What about strength and determination? _'At one with the world'… _I have no desire to be at one with this city! I can do better than that."

"Good!" laughed Legolas. "Come! Let us two go in. Whether we are elf or dwarf, we will find a way for both of us."

xxxxxx

"Remind me again what this secret stairway is for," Éomer said as he chased the shadowy form of Aragorn bobbing up the crumbling steps ahead of him. While the streets of the city had been gloomy, they were nothing compared to this continual impenetrable inkiness. Aragorn's eyes were keenest, and on glancing over his shoulder he could barely tell that his two friends were behind him. But the pattering of their footsteps was loud enough to make his hair stand on end, believing that any clattering loose stone or tap meant that their presence had been detected.

"It was for the King to escape the city in times of trouble; or without his people knowing," Aragorn whispered in a husky voice. Dust was fanning up into the dry air no matter how lightly he trod; he could tell from the faint scratching of sand and small stones on his face and outstretched hands. From time to time a minute crack of stony grey cut through the black wall, overwhelming his eyes, and the pale light, however faint, caused Aragorn's heart to ignite and his hair to stand on end as if beads of fire were shooting out from his electrified mind.

These splits in the ancient passageway were indisputably so tiny that they were dismissible - even his companions did not perceive them - but to Aragorn they were of the highest importance; and if they existed, others even thinner potentially lay in wait there unseen, all drawing out his every word, magnifying them, before bellowing each syllable out of the other end of the tube-like fissure into a chamber where a Dark Elf sat poised in wait with an ear-trumpet rammed with a watertight seal against the stone wall.

"If that be true, you need not speak so softly," Faramir piped up from the rear of the trio. "For surely every effort would be made to make the escape route unnoticeable, as we saw by the well-hidden entrance, and so not just by sight but by sound the king's flight would be undetectable."

At this Aragorn grimaced, knowing it was true, yet continued to fall into the outstretching misgiving which was eating every thought and feeling in his body.

They continued to climb, every so often passing through a ring of tree roots, doubtless from other old willow trees still on guard. Aragorn's theory was that there was an entrance to the secret stairway at the same regularity with which there were city levels in Minas Tirith. Éomer's theory was that they were there to trip him up. Faramir merely laughed and bit his lip silently while Aragorn wrinkled his brow in anguish, exhausted from fretting at the King of Rohan's yelp of pain.

It was timeless in that passageway; the only measurement was the number of stone steps. Yet, at last the stairway steepened, and finally, lost in that darkness each to their deepest fears, the three friends were climbing up a ladder-like sheerness. A mumbling came first to Aragorn's ears, but this time it was not Éomer. Soon, all three could hear the grumbling. All around them the stone was quivering and a great power, like on the eruption of Mount Doom, seemed to be brewing very close by.

While they wondered at this uneasily, the darkness faded and the outline of steps filtered through. The narrow tunnel opened out into a small chamber, and above, finally Aragorn saw what he had been convinced of in his heart: green lines in the shape of a rectangle. A ledge grew out from the topmost stair and the three of them filed along it, silently gazing upwards. Flickers of light glanced off their eyes, illuminating their fear and determination. But Aragorn closed his eyes and slowly bowed his head.

"Aragorn?" Faramir whispered. "Is she not there?"

"Nay," Aragorn murmured, his voice trembling as he revealed silvery eyes. "Arwen is lying there… but…" His face crumpled and he was unable to restrain the fear of loss of that which was harnessing his very purpose in life. He looked inside his heart, trying to reach out to her so distantly, trying to find out so vainly… was Arwen still there?

"Ai! Tolo, Arwen tintallë en 'uren nín!" (Come, Arwen kindler of my heart!) The ground juddered and a roar bellowed through the close air. As Faramir and Éomer looked up in shock, the flickering green light from the cracks danced about and lit the sparkles of tears in Aragorn's eyes. "Arwen…" he breathed, and her beautiful name echoed all around.


	29. The Fear of Loss

I apologise that this has taken a long time, but I had SO much work this week, along with my uni applications, and I did not want to give you a rushed chapter (you deserve more!). So I hope you like it, and thanks to everyone who's been reviewing - you make me really happy!! :)

29. The Fear of Loss

There was nothing to be heard. That is, by now, the rumbling of thunder from the pinnacle high above the citadel was so loud that even far across the Anduin Minas Tirith would be able to hear it, but Éowyn was so accustomed to the incessant disturbance by this point that she need not strain to hear anything over it, for now it was normal background noise. Nor did she need to try to listen out, because there was no other sound. The council chamber was deserted.

The flame torches had burnt down low, like suns dipped below the horizon, as if all the power of the Dark Elves' fires had been summoned elsewhere. There was a dim green vapour hanging in the air, lighting the foreboding ring of stone seats and the sharp edges of the throne. Éowyn wondered what horrible things might have happened in there but soon forcefully pushed the thought aside, sighing and feeling rather like a spare part.

She was just beginning to relax, as much as she could when her mind was fixated on whether Elladan and Elrohir were nearing the top of the tower, and whether the green fire in the pinnacle would erupt like a voluptuous volcano, when suddenly the door directly opposite opened and out walked a Dark Elf. Éowyn nearly leapt out of her skin at this quite different eruption but steadied herself from shrieking just in time. Instead she watched anxiously as the figure fully cloaked in black swept around the circumference of the hall, remaining in the shadows. As he disappeared behind a row of chairs, Éowyn edged to the side, straining to see if the Dark Elf was showing any signs of coming her way.

To her horror, as soon as he came into her sight once more, she saw his head turn directly towards her. His face was completely obscured, but Éowyn, absolutely terrified, was certain that his eyes were fixed on her. She trusted the elven cloak she wore, but the eyes of elves were so renowned that it was quite likely they could pick her out. Cursing herself for being foolish as her lower lip trembled, she began to stumble backwards, reaching out for the door behind her while not daring to turn her back on the Dark Elf.

He stopped in his tracks and then, to Éowyn's shock, he said something inaudible. She watched as he looked behind him, and then pulled back his hood.

The blonde head and fair complexion of Legolas was revealed to her and Éowyn almost fainted from relief. She clasped a hand to her chest, feeling her heart race, and somewhat staggered over to meet the elf, wearily pulling back the hood of her cloak.

"Are you alright, Lady Éowyn?" he asked her, putting a hand comfortingly on each shoulder and noticing how she could not quite meet his blue eyes.

"Yes," she exhaled deeply. "Are you alone?" Éowyn finally looked up.

"Of course not!" came a growl and Gimli pulled back his hood, seemingly all of a sudden to appear at Legolas' side. Éowyn looked between him and the elf wide-eyed, but did not have long to wonder.

"And you? Are you alone?" asked Legolas in concern.

"Elrohir and Elladan are climbing up to the tower," Éowyn whispered hurriedly. Legolas and Gimli looked on fixedly, hanging on each word. "I was keeping guard. They are going to try to stop the magic of the Dark Elves… I do not really understand, but they needed Arwen's sword. They have not long been gone… but they said it was hard."

Legolas nodded, his expression troubled. "Yes, I understand," he said solemnly.

"What can _we_ do though?" Gimli said.

"Elrohir and Elladan will stop the green bolt of fire which we saw brewing at the summit of the tower – that must be the tool for their purpose with Arwen. Once it is stopped, there will not be much time. The Dark Elves will be in uproar, and they will guess what has happened."

"Should we wait here with Éowyn, and guard the doorway then?"

"No," said Legolas urgently, dismissing him with a sharp shake of the head. "We must all go into the chamber where Beregond said that Arwen was taken. If the Dark Elves cannot perform whatever evil they are trying to do this way, they will immediately try a second plan. We must be there to protect Arwen. Come, quickly, both of you."

With that Legolas lowered his hood once more before leaping off silently towards the door Éowyn had been through earlier, and the other two followed suit. As he opened the door, a blare poured through as if the room contained a thunder cloud. Their eyes were filled with black and emerald, presently unable to take in much more. But the three of them slipped inside, allowing themselves to swim into the darkness and seal their entrance behind.

xxxxxx

The two elves raced up the staircase, their erratic shadows driving them upwards away from the vigorous fires. The heat was astounding, but the brothers were both shivering. They could feel the power of the Dark Elves now, all their corruption and desire for power above all life vibrating in the air around them. The steps were shaking, for the fires below were blazing so furiously that the stone was beginning to crack and shudder. The thunderous noise which came from the green fire was so loud now, but their heavy breathing was clear in their ears. Until they reached the apex, they would not rest, for they knew that time was wearing thin.

The spiral staircase was winding tighter now, like the coils of a snake narrowing before the final squeeze. It indicated that they were nearing the end, and sure enough, suddenly they burst out of an archway and onto a small circular battlement, swamped in the darkness of the night. Gasping and steadying themselves from falling over the edge, the elves saw how they seemed to be floating in a black sea as far as they could discern. Fog was creeping in from the mountains, at the same height as they stood now, and remotely in the distance there were tiny lights moving through the streets. Elladan refused to peer over the edge, for fear of fainting on seeing how high they were above the ground. For while he adored the great trees of Caras Galadhon, he gave his trust far more willingly to trees of the elves and quite understandingly with the tremors which were shaking the tower about, it was reasonable to fear plummeting down to the black citadel so far below.

On looking down to their feet only, Elladan and Elrohir saw how the circular floor was split by a star of seven vertices, each line bearing a stream of liquid green fire beneath colourless glassy stone. In the centre was a low round wall, like a well, from which erupted long darting green flames which stabbed the black night up to a height matching their own.

The elves' eyes met across the eerie light and Elrohir held out Arwen's sword. Sweat was pouring down his flustered complexion but his eyes stood out the brighter. However Elladan tore off his disguise of the Dark Elf and cast the black cape onto the marbled floor behind him.

"Not even these cloaks will hide us after we halt their witchcraft," Elladan shouted over the din, and after hesitating, Elrohir too discarded his mantle with great speed, desperate too relieve the boiling heat. The sons of Elrond stood ready, stripped to their elven battle tunic, smooth leather and protecting fabrics whose intricacies glimmered in the light.

"Who should do it?" Elrohir asked loudly, offering his brother the sword once more.

"Let us both;" Elladan said, "for together we may have strength enough. If we can summon all the power of Imladris and Lothlórien, we shall be able to hinder their magic, even if just for a while."

Elrohir stood back and held out the curving sword, inches from the lofty emerald fire, and over his right hand Elladan clasped both of his, and Elrohir closed his left around them. The elves both followed the curve of the sword, down where the blood of their sister was beginning to run in the heat, and up to where the tip of the sword shone brightly like the sun. They remembered Arwen, through the ages of her long life, all the beauty and captivation she had gathered from the wisdom of Imladris, and the unfading fulfilment of Lórien. They saw the armies of the Eldar, striving against Sauron in their first war against him, and felt the pure valour of their people, their kingdoms, the elves of Middle-Earth, Elrond, Arwen, and themselves.

Crying her name, with all their hearts aching to save not only Arwen but the race of the elves, Elladan and Elrohir drove Arwen's sword into the towering green fire. Immediately fresh new flames burst out and a pyramid of light shot up into the sky, while white pearls streamed up the metal blade and the handle seared with ferocious heat. The brothers cried out in pain, but only held tighter. Yet through their wincing they saw that nothing had happened to the Dark Elves' fire; it had grown in power, rather than submitted, and they had not changed it at all.

Tears were in Elrohir's eyes. "Why hasn't it worked?" he whispered through gritted teeth, his face overwhelmed with disappointment. The pain of the sword was awful, and he could feel the soft skin of his hand burning, but it was trivial compared to the panic in his soul.

Elladan turned his eyes to his brother's, filled with distress. "Her name," he said. "Her _name_! We cannot do it!" Both realising this, they were filled with dismay at their incapability. They loved their sister so dearly, but to say her name in the manner of one whose heart was bound to hers in love was foreign to them.

"We must try again!" Elladan shouted, but his brother was turning away, slackening his grip on the blazing sword. "Do not let go! Come back! Do not abandon her!" Elrohir lifted up his wearied face; the pain was beginning to overwhelm him as he became less expectant.

Elladan's hands were blistering too - he could see the flesh turning red and raw, peeling away like curling smoke - but though tears were weeping copiously out of his eyes and drenching his cheeks, through wet lips he kept whispering Arwen's name, over and over, desperately trying to find the perfect manner. In their eyes all memories had left, visions of when Arwen was fair and enchanting and laughing under the trees; instead all they saw was her lying beneath them, deathly pale and strewn in bloody woods, enveloped by green fires and black shadows allayed only by hundreds of red eyes of Sauron. This grievous sight turned Elrohir back, and he remembered what his father had said: there had been one chance for Isildur to destroy the Ring, one chance to kill Sauron forever, but Elrond had let Isildur go. And because of that, a flicker of Sauron's spirit still remained, one which he now had a chance to fight back against and redeem the past.

The tower of fire suddenly jumped with energy and, flying up hundreds of feet into the sky before cracking the clouds with blue-green lightning, Arwen's sword was heavily sucked in and the brothers struggled to keep hold. Elladan's face was overwritten with alarm, and his heart was bound with sickness as the Dark Elves' fire reached its climax and Arwen's fate took a turn for the very worst. Burdened with their purpose, Elrohir looked at the face of his brother, where Arwen's likeness was portrayed, and breathed her name, at that very moment where so much hung on a thread, thin as a strand of Arwen's hair. They held their breath, swamped in unbearable heat, drowning under the deafening roar, staring unendingly into the green fire to see which way the petrifying balance tipped.

xxxxxx

Their hearts were racing. Legolas had drawn close to the altar and stood just like one of the hundred Dark Elves stationed there, fearfully entranced by Arwen as she lay motionless. Her pale skin glowed in the crackling light of the green column of fire lowering down from the pinnacle above, spitting and hissing. The blood from her wounds which rested on the hard stone lit up and faded between black and tarnished red as the light fluctuated. The fires surrounding her bed were constantly growing, fencing her in a green sheen, and yet her face was so clear. Legolas knew he was not alone is recognising this; the Dark Elves were staring at her with such great intent, their voices were excitedly rising in their enchantment and they were huddling together, unable resist the power of their magic.

Legolas' eyes roamed around. To one side of him was Éowyn, cowering down by his waist. Her stuttered breaths fluted the air around them. To the other side was Gimli, who to Legolas' surprise and admiration had been both silent and nimble. By discerning hard, Legolas saw his bent form indicate that he had one hand to his head, as his gaze shifted solemnly across the startling view. He could think of no words of comfort for his friends. Even if he spoke them, they would probably be inaudible under the rumbling of the green fiery shaft.

Heaving, having been unsettled, Legolas' eyes were drawn up to the tapering ceiling. The body of fire was dropping down to no avail, not stopping or slowing in any way. Instead it wound down, white light glinting off its surface and intense green fire wrapped within. Steam rushed off and into the air, lowering a suffocating vapour down to where the Dark Elves stood. Instinctively Legolas' throat narrowed and his chest lurched, but he fought to resist coughing out the intoxicating air. While his eyes watered and his sight faded momentarily, the roaring suddenly heightened and filled his ears. Next to him, Gimli and Éowyn twitched nervously.

When his tears cleared, Legolas saw to his horror that the splint of fire was now past halfway to the altar, and gathering speed. New flames were shooting down its body, weaving rapidly through gleaming silver veins and pooling at its tip, the flame point, sharper than a sword, more scorching than any brand. It was descending with new urgency, united with the chanting in Black Speech of the Dark Elves. Arwen's body was now permanently a pale green hue.

"Where are they?" Gimli whispered, nudging Legolas' side gently. "Why aren't they stopping it?"

Legolas strained to see up to the source of the fire, but the light was so brilliant that his eyes were defeated. In his mind, he knew the difficulties and the chance they were taking. Would they be able to overcome the power of the Dark Elves, even if only for a few seconds? It was a duel he could not guess the outcome of. And even if they had the strength, if they had arrived there, wielding Arwen's sword, would they be able to bind the magic? Would the brothers be able to whisper her name, soft and tender, the way her lover, Estel, would?

"They will be there," Éowyn said quietly with apparent confidence, but they all openly shared doubt now. The rapidly dropping fiery sword welled the blood up in their veins, and their eyes flickered helplessly, while in their minds they constantly tossed the question, should they do something?

Legolas tried to speak, but a hot ball was lodged in his throat, inflaming his flesh and arousing an appalling sense of nausea within his stomach. How could he let her go? There she was, between the parting green fires, at the mercy of these Dark Elves. So many, so potent, so overwhelming. What could he do?

"We cannot help her… they would kill us all," Legolas muttered quickly. But not matter how much he told himself that, the fact still remained that Arwen needed help. He was stationed there like an ice-sculpture, quite worthless in the face of fire. And time was running out.

Just as sand trickles through an egg timer, and while steady at the start suddenly pours out towards the end, the spiralling fire fell down faster and faster. Everywhere was alight, whether by the radiation of the bright sinuous green flames or by the pounding roar or by the amplified hisses of the Dark Elves which set their nerves on edge. Orange eyes wreathed in red grew out of the shadowy hoods, and grey skull-like faces materialised around. The words were filled with evil, malevolence and cruelty, and dripped with longing. They led the fire on, calling to it, bringing its point closer.

"Where are Elladan and Elrohir?" Gimli whimpered again. In panic, Legolas and Éowyn looked up.

There was an almighty explosion; halfway down the column of fire a bubble swelled and burst, deafening everything in the chamber. In the hoods of the Dark Elves the glowing ashes of Sauron's eye narrowed. Suddenly the true eye erupted from the blinding bright air – a fierce wreath of fire jumped out to fill the chamber, blood red and licking tongues of orange, with a fathomless slit of black slicked through the centre, all seeing and all encompassing, but focused solely on Arwen's body. On beholding Sauron, the Dark Elves fell to their knees; whether out of reverence or because the air was sucked dry and exhaled as a wave itchy heat, impossible to breathe, it was uncertain. Yet Legolas, Gimli and Éowyn held themselves upright, holding their breath in the deep plunge.

With a great yell in the Black Speech of Mordor, the contracting Great Eye flew apart and out of it materialised the piercing column of white light. It scarred the vision of the three friends but they saw the falling red sparks settle in the raised heads of the Dark Elves, now climbing to their feet. How the fiery rod now heaved and then plummeted, seething like a snake about to strike. The edges of blade of fire were prickly with spiny flames standing on end, while navy blue and white tongues erupted out and poured throughout its dazzling body. The point cascaded rapidly down to just above Arwen's vulnerable chest, where all of a sudden it held steady, and, breathless, Legolas, Gimli and Éowyn looked on, stunned. The voices of the Dark Elves and the monotone of the Black Tongue had ceased, and there was only the drumming roar.

Suddenly, clear in his mind, Legolas heard Arwen's gentle voice calling out: "_Estel…_" just as Galadriel had been able to speak without a sound when he had met her in Lórien. With no time to understand, there was a blast of blinding light, green fused with white, and a boom of thunder clapped the rushing air, and the spit of fire shattered into darkness.

xxxxxx

Fiercely cold pain stabbed through the bones in their hands and Arwen's sword was thrust back, flying down with a clatter. Elladan and Elrohir were thrown onto the shuddering ground away from the erupting flames, helpless under the wave of smouldering heat and damp vapour, where they tried to pull themselves up to their elbows. A terrible bellow rumbled out from the well of fire and far above there was the sound of clouds splitting apart. The two elves looked up as the column of fire widened and then suddenly contracted, before pelting down and exploding into thousands of tiny pinpricks of green light. There was a final grumble and the brothers were drowned in darkness.

Exhausted, for a moment they lay there, cradling their hands which were weighted down with intense pain. Beneath their bodies, the warmth of the stone was vanquished and the marbled veins, once filled with fire, were now grey and dull. The deathly silent world began to unfold around them, and slowly a dim green glow radiated out of the well beside them. Crawling to his knees, Elrohir grappled with the stone wall and pulled up his brother. "Come and look," he whispered.

Silently the two elves walked forward through the gloom and peered over the edge. Many feet below, at the deep-set base of the pinnacle, they saw a rectangle of muffled green fires, surrounding Arwen, who was shrouded in pale grey. No orange eyes were visible – they were all focused on her – but strange silvery cords had dropped down from the floor on which they stood. Beneath their feet, around the base of the well's opening, thin long ropes had been dislodged and now hovered, like cobwebs loosened after a window has been blasted open by the wind. They swung gently in a soft wind of their own, faintly glimmering from within their fluidity.

"Let us go," Elrohir said under his breath, meeting his brother's eyes. Elladan climbed over the ledge and hooked a rope with his foot while his hands were still above the wall.

"It's sticky," he whispered, frowning fretfully.

"Never mind," Elrohir said, who was reaching out for Arwen's sword. He tentatively touched it, but it was quite cool and soothing to his sore hands. Relieved, it was sheathed in his belt and Elrohir followed his brother over the edge.

Elladan was hanging there, waiting, when Elrohir realised why he was so unhappy. When he tried to take off one hand, the fragile skin on his palm would be glued to the rope and slowly tear as he snatched it away. Eyes watering, he nodded grimly and together they scaled down the fathomless distance, quieter and darker than thieves in the night. No eyes were upon them, yet the air was filled with tension as if they did not deserve entry into the still silent chamber. The quaking of their hearts seemed to emanate all around, their soft breaths seeming raucous and revealing. They were behaving like thieves indeed, but all they wanted to see was the truth, and all they wanted to steal was the life of their loved one, Arwen. If that had not already been taken away.


	30. Pursuit of Freedom

Many thanks to everyone who has been reviewing! I could never even hope to reach 100 reviews! It was very exciting...

Apologies for the delay in posting, I had the worst week of my life after the last update and writing got thrown out the window for a while... I hope you can forgive me and enjoy this chapter!

30. Pursuit of Freedom

Speckles of red and orange flickered into sight as they swept nearer the bottom. The two brothers could hear the angry intakes of breath from the Dark Elves on spotting the intruders, but, above all, the venomous hiss of one, the leader, surpassed the rest. While the elves were still a few feet above the altar with its glowing green ashes, the Master cried out a horrible curse in the Black Speech of Mordor.

"No man can come between us!" he shouted, with such vehemence that the ropes on which the brethren hang swung backwards and torches around the circular wall fluttered into light.

At that moment, three shadows arose up out of the black sea of Dark Elves and leapt like a wave over the green shore, onto the stone island which was the altar beneath the pinnacle, while two more jumped lightly down onto the table top alongside. There was a ring and twang of weapons being drawn and simultaneously, standing proud and valiantly, Éowyn, Legolas, Gimli, Elladan and Elrohir cried out:

"_I am no man!!"_

xxxxxx

"Aragorn, you must help us move this!" Faramir urged vehemently with his hands above his head. The King stared emptily at Faramir and Éomer, who were both fiercely pushing the block of stone above them, but to no avail. The ground which had been jolting about, like a small boat in a tumultuous storm, was at a standstill and the crashing of waves and thunder booming down the tunnel and back had evaporated.

"There is strength in you yet, Elessar," Éomer said, "We can do this only with your help."

Aragorn silently raised his grey eyes up. The tremors had dislodged the great stone so that a large chink of subtle green light diffused through into the dusty underground chamber. He was certain she was there. He had to find her; now was the only moment.

Aragorn reached up and placed each palm on the cool substantial stone. Surprisingly, it was smooth. He leant close to his friends and whispered, "Let me go first. I do not know what to expect above, but wherever I encounter the Dark Elves, it is best if they do not grasp how many of us there are. We may have a chance if they do not see you." His meaningful glance passed to Faramir, who inclined his head.

"We are right behind you, Aragorn," Éomer encouraged him.

Aragorn stood on tiptoes and the slit of light now stretched across his eyes in a pale band. Solemnly he surveyed what appeared to be currents of a black body of water tossing, behind a shore-line of glinting ashes, winking and fading repeatedly. Voices like the sound of shingle being drawn back against its will into the sea reached his ears, and yet he felt unexplainably heartened. Then, he heard a voice he knew.

"You have no right to be here!" There was the complaint of Gimli, gruff and bold. Aragorn's spirit nearly levitated through the solid stone in joy. But then he heard more.

"You are a disgrace to the Eldar, Middle-Earth, and all that lives under the Valar," Legolas called out, his clear voice echoing resonantly.

"You should never have done what you did tonight," Éowyn accused. "We shall not let you forget this."

Aragorn held his breath, eavesdropping on the conversation occurring above to determine the right moment for climbing out. He heard the nerve-scraping voice of a Dark Elf.

"And I would say the same to you, had I not said this: we do not fear you. You may have had the element of surprise, but whoever is right, you have neither the luck of numbers nor the skill of cunning. You have fallen right into the net without saving yourself. I am pleased… We shall not let _you_ forget this."

"And why should they fear you?" Aragorn bellowed, hauling himself up like a panther and leaping on top of a great slab of stone upon which the legs of his friends were standing. His strong voice resounded around the great circular chamber he found himself in and all around there were gasps of disbelief and murmurs of suspect. "Come," Aragorn called out, swivelling round with a raised sword inside the circle of his five friends. He met the eyes of one Dark Elf, at the foot of the stone monument. "Why should they fear you?" He glared at the commander, fearlessly staring at those blazing eyes which were images of Sauron himself. Yet while they flickered animatedly, the Master did not speak.

"Behold, I am Elessar, and I tell you now, they do not stand alone! I will fight for my friends, my people, to the very end. I am the King of Gondor, and this city is under my hand. You have no right to be here, let alone challenge my rule. You have never fooled me; right from the start, I knew what you were doing. You thought that by seizing those dear to me, I might bend on my knees and bow to you, but to you, I say this: not now, not ever, have I even contemplated giving in, because we stand true to each other, and to all the free peoples of Middle-Earth. You shall not prevail over me, for we stand together."

As he spoke, there were snarls and hisses of hatred around his feet. The commanding Dark Elf sneered and his eyes flashed red. "Silence, Elessar! We did not meet here tonight to listen to your declarations." The clamour of all the Dark Elves arose and suddenly, the room was filled with shouts and hissings, quite out of control. Taken aback, Aragorn felt a hand on his shoulder, and his head flew around.

"Legolas," he said, and then his gaze dropped down to where the elf's eyes were fixated. His heart plummeted.

Horror struck his very soul and Aragorn's knees buckled. He fell to the side of Arwen's body, so dim and lifeless that only now he realised how much he had missed her so intolerably. He felt as if his neck was being strangled and all life sapped out of him along with hers. Aragorn had never seen Arwen look so different – all radiance and glimmering elven charm had now faded, so that while each feature was still in place, the beautiful lines were now dull and unlit, as if her spirit, once bright white light, had now burnt low. His trembling fingers reached out to her slender neck, unsure whether it was right to touch her pure body or not. When his fingertips finally pressed against the soft skin, Aragorn swallowed painfully, feeling neither warmth nor coldness. He realised in that second he had never touched a dead elf – would this be the first time? There was no pulse. He moved his hand down to her chest, straining to feel any twitch of her heart, but could find none.

Aragorn sat back, utterly overwhelmed. Lost in the moment, the loud uproar around him was far in the distance. He simply gazed at the body of the one he loved, the elf-maiden who had given up her immortality for him. Her love had been so true… his gaze flicked to her rounded stomach, in which she held their child. Aragorn clapped a hand to his mouth, fearing that he would be sick from the intense love that could no longer save him. Guilt streamed through his body out from his erratic heart, reminding him again and again that he had not looked after her, his wife, the dearest elf ever to grace the lands, the most wonderful lover. This was why Middle-Earth was falling around him: Elrond had made them wait to wed after Sauron was defeated and he, Aragorn, was King, so that she might be safe; but he was a mere, lowly mortal. He was a poor King, who could not even rule his lands. He had the same weakness of Isildur, running never-endingly in his veins. This was his doom, the bitter punishment he must serve, and because of him, the innocent life of the most innocent beloved elf had been claimed.

Someone called his name, and with a great effort Aragorn raised his stiff neck. Legolas was looking down at him anxiously. "She may not be gone," he said sensitively. Aragorn's frown deepened and he became aware of the floods of tears running down his face. He looked back to Arwen and slowly leant forward on one hand, leaning over her body, with the other hand gently stroking her cheek. He hardly dared do anymore, for fear of confirming that she might be dead, and for fear of disrespecting the final image he would ever have of her in his tragic memory.

"I'm sorry, Arwen, meleth nín," he whispered, his lips pulling back in a grimace as he began to weep openly. On being so close, all the memories of Arwen came flooding back, and Aragorn felt as if he was rapidly drowning in the muddle and swiftly losing the minute chance of redeeming the present. Her skin was quite soft, just as it always had been, but a raw graze on her cheek reminded him of what had recently happened to her; but he did not even know what defiling horrors they might have been.

Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes and splashed down onto her shut eyelids, the only glistening part of her. The small glittering of light dazzled Aragorn's already foggy eyes and the image swam hazily, mixed with all his tangled but encompassing thoughts. Due to this, he did not notice the little flickering, but quite suddenly, her eyelids teased apart and two great Eyes of Sauron blared into Aragorn's defenceless own.

Crying out piercingly, Aragorn toppled back, landing in a heap at the feet of Legolas.

"What is it?" his friend exclaimed fearfully. "Have you been shot?"

Aragorn was shading his eyes, cowering away. His mind was reeling. He was only distantly aware of Legolas' voice, and others of his friends, and movement around him.

"She's awake, Aragorn, _she's awake!_"

Aragorn found himself shaken back into the world, and he looked out to see the blonde head of his friend bent over Arwen. Legolas turned his uplifted face towards him, smiling and rejoicing in Sindarin. Aragorn heard him not, but was staring transfixed at the rise and fall of Arwen's slender upper body and the minute twitching of her delicate eyelids.

A magnificent wave of joy swept through Aragorn's body; he felt like singing forever, he could run the length of Middle-Earth, he would praise the Valar for eternity! While he leapt up, his love for Arwen shone through his eyes brighter than the silmarils; Legolas smiled even more happily and brought him into an embrace.

"You arrived in the nick of time, mellon nín," Legolas said to him, as they straightened up and surveyed the surrounding Dark Elves. "I fear any later, and she may have been lost."

"What do you mean?" said Aragorn, turning round, wholly confused.

Legolas looked at him strangely. "You whispered her name, didn't you? Before you sprouted out of the ground like a dwarf."

"Yes, you did," said Éomer, laughing at Legolas' joyous joke. Aragorn hadn't noticed the King of Rohan clamber out of the tunnel, but he had chosen a good moment to do so.

"So what if I did?" Aragorn asked, but Legolas simply shook his head.

"And just now. You managed to call her back." Aragorn stared at his friend blankly. "None of us could have done that, not even her brothers." Legolas, beaming, clapped a hand on his shoulder, while Aragorn still tried to fathom out quite what he had done.

"You speak in riddles, just like Gandalf," Aragorn proclaimed dismissively.

"Whether or not that is true," Elrohir said, grasping Aragorn's elbow, "now is not the time to fathom them out. We are caught in a snake-pit. Their debate over what to do with us buys us time too, but not for much longer. Can we escape back the way you came?"

"No," interrupted Gimli, "Beregond is in the hall we came through, along with others they have taken prisoners. We cannot leave without them."

"Perhaps you could take Arwen back your way, with another," proposed Elladan, "while the rest of us rescue the hostages."

Aragorn shook his head. "I will not risk us being separated again. Moreover, we all need as much defence as we can get. We shall go together. That Beregond is alive is good tidings! Where is this hall he is in?"

"Through that door," Éowyn pointed, "you shall come into the Council Chamber. The door on the left leads into that hall, from which Legolas and Gimli came."

"We need a diversion," said Elrohir. "We cannot simply walk over there. Even if we did, we would be pursued."

"I have a plan," Legolas informed them. "Let me shoot some fire into their midst. It will create havoc. We shall be able to weave effortlessly through the chaos."

"They will still follow us," Éomer said.

"Aha!" Aragorn cried. "But if you and Faramir remain in here, behind the door, then if you wind Faramir's horn and shout loudly, it will sound as if many of us have taken over this hall. Afterwards, while they run back in, we will free the captives, you can slip out, and we will meet you as we leave the hall."

"That will do well," nodded Éomer. "I shall stay behind. They have not likely noticed me yet. I shall return to Faramir now and inform him."

The friends rearranged themselves in a ring on top of the altar, while Éomer slid back into the tunnel and Elladan hurriedly untied Arwen's cords which bound her to the great stone.

"Surely they will attack us, though, when we fire into them?" Aragorn whispered sidelong to Legolas, his heart still pounding as his gaze lay upon Arwen.

"Yes," Legolas replied, "but I am an elf, and the fire will protect us. Watch." With that, he bent down on his knees and blew into the green ashes which remained around the altar. Fresh flames flew out from them, but now a golden yellow colour. Like a forest-fire, the flames fled out and moved swiftly from ashes to ashes, until the yellow girdle reached out all around them and a ring of merry fire enclosed them.

"There," Legolas stood up. "Their weapons cannot harm us now. We control the fire."

At the new illumination, the Dark Elves had changed. They hesitated in their speech now and were quiet silent, watching their quarry intently. Their Master stepped forward, his pale face glowing in the warm firelight.

"What are you doing?" he leered at them, laughing. "You have just fenced yourselves in."

Aragorn walked to the foot of the altar, his head and shoulders appearing above the flourishing flames. "I came not to provide entertainment, but to give you a warning."

"Oh, I do not have time to listen to fickle men," the Dark Elf dismissed him, turning to his allies who began to laugh.

"You _will_ listen to me!" Aragorn said angrily. "You are living proof that immortality does not mean purity! I see now that Sauron lives within you, and it is you who seek to rule Middle-Earth, not me. I do not threaten you because I wish to dominate you, but because I want there to be freedom in all the lands. I have strived for the good of my people, for the good of both men and elves and all those who yearn to be free, and yet you will not see that. I cannot take the blame for the influx of the sea in the East, and yet somehow you have decided to seek vengeance for it on me. You have been attacking innocent people in order to reach me, though you did not have the courage to seek me out yourself, only to pick on those more vulnerable. Now I have come to you, I say, I am a fair man, and the injustice you have done against Arwen above everyone else – she, who has only ever wished for the peaceful life of the elves upon all who dwell in Arda – that injustice will be repaid with no mercy."

"The elves will never forget your betrayal!" Legolas shouted, as he along with the sons of Elrond lifted up his bow and they let loose a shower of flaming arrows. With a roar, three bursts of flame took off and consumed the thick black cloaks of the Dark Elves ruthlessly. The Master hissed viciously, like water being thrown on hot coals, but when he yelled for the intruders to be killed, all weapons were repelled by Legolas' ring of fire: arrows burnt up in mid-air, knives fell into the hearth, and swords cart-wheeled over their dome of light into the darkness on the other side.

The Dark Elves had become a ceaseless body of black water, where smatterings of fire spread leaping and diving like the flashing reflection of light on a tossing sea. Their cries in the Black Speech of Mordor filled the air, but nothing could touch the nine protected on the altar.

"The fires are spreading," Elrohir commented. "Should we go, Aragorn?"

But Aragorn was on his knees once more, barely hearing his friend, who did not press on when he saw what was happening. Aragorn was examining all of Arwen's wounds, but was most intent on folding her left hand in his, tenderly avoiding the bruising from the cruel ropes, and brushed some athelas leaves over her lily-white forehead. He bent closer, whispering softly, until slowly she opened her eyes, deep and blue as they had always been, and they met dazzlingly with his.

Such emotion had never before been seen on any face as there was then on Aragorn's. His eyes misted up with a chorus of invisible emotions, but he was smiling so warmly that his love was visibly beaming all around. Arwen's lips parted as he kissed her forehead and her fingers weakly closed around his thumb. Her eyelids fell shut again, but Aragorn was now ready to leave, now that he was sure. With a look of unhappy concern he pulled his fingers out of Arwen's grasp and then with great care he put one arm under her back, and the other under her legs, and he steadily rose up as she rolled into his chest. She was so weak that she seemed hardly to notice, except for the whimper as her wounds were stretched or compressed in different places around her hurting heart. In turn, this mournful sound hurt his heart.

"Let us go now," Legolas said, surveying his hesitant friend. The others were all poised for flight.

"This way, laddie," Gimli said, peering tiptoe over the yellow flames. "It looks clearest." Legolas came to stand behind him and then parted the tongues of fire with his hands as if they were reefs of grass. Only a few Dark Elves in the disarray turned their heads when he did this.

"Do you not have any black cloaks to hide yourselves in?" Legolas asked Elladan and Elrohir, while he dipped the feathers of one of his arrows in the flames so that it caught fire.

"Nay, we left them at the top of the tower," Elladan replied. "We shall have to fight full-on."

Gimli, however, was not dissuaded by this revelation. Instead, bellowing, he threw himself off the altar, between the rushes of fire and into the shadows. Hurrying Éowyn jumped after him, followed by Elladan. Aragorn stepped down to the floor more cautiously, fully aware that he was incapable of any combat while bearing Arwen in his arms. He could not risk throwing her over one shoulder, because he did not want to hurt her stomach, with their small baby inside. But behind him were both Elrohir and Legolas, strong and swift, protecting him all the way.

Luckily, they did not meet with much resistance. The golden fires were still burning brightly around the altar, and so gave the impression from a quick glance that they were still there. There were Dark Elves scurrying in every direction, some away from the grassfire, some to bring help to others who were alight, but apart from the flame-wearers it was dark down in the pit. Éowyn and Legolas, at each end, were not easily discernable, and furthermore, Gimli had the added bonus of being half the height of the Dark Elves, so he was having wondrous success in knocking his axe into the knees of anyone in their way. The others fought bare-handed, hitting any menacing Dark Elves on the head or in the groin. Thus around Aragorn and his little group, black figures toppled over like dominos bearing red and white dots.

Surprisingly soon the seven companions reached the far door. The news of their presence, or rather absence from the altar, only now began to spread around, and just as they had wrenched open the small door, Dark Elves were thick and pressing against them. Aragorn was pushed through the door by Éowyn, but Legolas propelled her out too, and the three of them ran as fast as they could across the shady chamber, where the stone seats sat quite empty. Their footsteps echoed about openly, but were overwritten by the shouts amplified through the doorway, only serving to fuel their flight.

Éowyn reached the door initially but Legolas bolted through it first while she held it open. Aragorn was already looking wearied, albeit more out of stress rather than tiredness. When he came into the next hall, he discerned through the gloom Legolas squinting up into lofty space above their heads, his bow raised and an arrow carefully positioned. He soon found out why: it soared up and then across in a flat arc, passing through five chandeliers and lighting each of them before skidding onto the floor right at the far end of the hallway. Bubbles of yellow light materialised and illuminated the massive chamber with a soft _pop_; Éowyn had shut the door.

Immediately, there were movements off to the right, and the three of them hastened over to where captives were bound to a pillar wider than the greatest mallorn tree Legolas had ever seen. Beregond lifted up his head and his despondent expression melted into utter joy as his eyes squinted into the light.

"You came!" he rejoiced, sighing in relief when he saw Legolas. Then he saw Aragorn, laying down Arwen's body on the ground gentler than a glass vase. Beregond's face softened and he closed his eyes tightly in deep thought. "Elessar… I am so thankful," he murmured, and Aragorn looked round, while Éowyn knelt down before him to unbind his hands. The guard of the citadel winced but asked, "how is she?"

"Friend," Aragorn said, holding out a hand to help Beregond to his feet. "Words cannot express my sadness for what has happened to you, because of me."

"No," replied Beregond, "I do not blame you. I only blame those who cannot see the enlightenment which you have brought to these lands." Aragorn smiled weakly, tears of appreciation glittering in his eyes.

Meanwhile, Erandur and Celros' parents had been freed by Legolas, who were now supporting the couple. Celros' father was weeping, apparently in no fit state, but was determined to aid his barely conscious wife to stand. "Please, some water," he kept saying, staring avidly at her.

"My lord!" Erandur exclaimed, bowing low to Aragorn before letting out a gargle of pain as he stretched a tender part of his beaten body. Éowyn hurriedly caught him before he lost his balance and teetered over.

"I regret that I do not know your name, but there is no time for more words now," Aragorn said, his eyes anxiously straying back to Arwen's unmoving body.

"Erandur!" the man cried his name ecstatically when he followed Aragorn's gaze. "She is safe! But what has happened to Arwen? We have been so afraid."

"No time!" Éowyn hissed edgily. "Now, lean on me and hobble as fast as you can to that door!"

Legolas helped both of Celros' parents and Beregond demonstrated more admirable resilience by setting off at an astonishing pace down the hallway. Aragorn scooped up Arwen again and chased his friends; all were driven by the heightening cries that could be heard echoing around the last chamber. Suddenly, when distinct loud voices began to be discerned clearly in there, they all sped up a notch. It was imperative that they set off now, because they could not defend themselves well now with so many ill among them, except with thoughts of hope that their friends were succeeding back in the hellish place they had deserted them and would soon join their departure from Minas Morgul.


	31. Caught in the Web

31. Caught in the Web

"The chairs, the chairs! Make for the chairs!"

Swarms of Dark Elves were flooding into the council chamber and the dark-haired elves and the dwarf were compelled to retreat back away from the door. Their plan was to do so, of course, so that the circular chamber was completely emptied of Dark Elves to leave just Faramir and Éomer, but they wondered now if they had bought their friends enough time, and could only pray that they did not force entry into the captives' chamber. For the moment, though, that was not their gravest worry. Instead that was the angrily flashing swords and swooping blades narrowly missing their heads.

Currently, Gimli was lunging for the grand throne, while the two elves were balancing nimbly on the arms of two other chairs. Gimli growled menacingly at the Dark Elves who followed him and gave a generous swipe of his axe, flattening the surroundings as if they were a burnt savannah.

"Now look who's on the throne!" Gimli laughed gruffly, thrusting out his axe again as a warning, his eyes darting around in his reddened face.

Elladan and Elrohir did not find quite as much amusement in the situation; instead they were intent on drawing all the Dark Elves towards them and were sternly parrying many other swords at once. Their persistent engagement in battle without slaying anyone was indeed attracting the Dark Elves in the chamber – it was clear that the disappearance of their friends had passed unnoticed so far. To be fair on his part, Gimli was making up for their absence with a lot of noise, sufficient to pass for a great many people.

"Come on, you rascals!" he bellowed, dancing around on the stone seat of the great throne. This provocation, along with a seemingly peculiar type of war-dance, certainly angered the Dark Elves who were continually flooding the chamber. The ring of seats was rapidly sinking under the sable tide and their upright backs were washed over by flapping black cloaks. Luckily for the three distracters, there were no arrows among the enemy, or their plan would have been foiled.

Gimli was beginning to lose a little of his flourishing confidence when he realised how full the room was with Dark Elves, with most of their eyes flashing hungrily in his direction. However, he saw the trickle of Dark Elves through the door dribble to a halt, and on cue, there arose a triumphant horn-cry in the circular chamber beneath the pinnacle of Minas Morgul.

In a moment of horror, the entire swarm of Dark Elves descended into silence and turned their pale faces back towards the door they had so eagerly quitted. They all listened, their finely tuned ears pricked sensitively, unable to block out the gloriously loud, resonant note which filled the vibrating air. The horn's blow quivered tantalisingly in Elladan and Elrohir's ears and reminded Gimli of the great horn in the Hornburg at Helm's Deep, growling low and organ-like from the ancient depths of rock. Yet this song was clearer, brighter, like the cry of a voice over golden grassy plains, exultant and magnificent.

The mood had visibly changed. Quite suddenly the Dark Elves rushed away from the ring of chairs and headed swiftly back through the little door, speaking in hoarse, urgent voices and wielding twitching swords. When the horn ceased and victorious cries of men rang in the air, the behaviour of the Dark Elves sharpened and they scurried back even faster. The room was rapidly draining of the black flood and the three who had so recently been avidly attacked were now left quite abandoned, standing proudly high on the stone chairs.

As the Dark Elves fled out of the chamber, Gimli gave a silent leap into the air and delighted ran over to where Elladan and Elrohir were still poised, staring after the last Dark Elves.

"Gimli, go through!" Elladan whispered, his eyes only now dropping down to the dwarf. "It is safe!"

At that moment, the faces of Éomer and Faramir burst through the doorway and they hurriedly pressed the door shut and lifted the bolt down. Elrohir's face lit up and he jumped down to meet the two men running towards him, as if a dozen tigers were pouncing at their heels.

"Go, go!" Faramir gasped. He waved a hand, urging his friends to escape. The brethren only now noticed how frightened and breathless the men looked.

"I have had quite enough!" Éomer explained, looking as white as a sheet. "I will never go back in there." He held up his trembling hands in meek surrender.

Wordless, Gimli grabbed an arm of each man and hauled them over to the right door. Elladan and Elrohir could hear the uproar next door as their trick had been discovered.

"_Quick!_" Elladan pleaded. "Just get through, find the others and _get out_! We will slow them down."

The men were through the door into the lit hallway, but Gimli paused, his eyes, filling with terror, focused on the other door, the one back into the sacrificial chamber. The door was shuddering and groaning with force. He seemed not persuaded.

"I will not leave you now," he said quietly, looking up at the elves. They both stared back at the dwarf.

Shouts echoed down the great hallway, remote voices of Aragorn and Legolas and Faramir.

"Elrohir! Elladan! Come on, let us go!"

The elves met each others' eyes and then joined the dwarf in his return to the massive hall where the others were already at the far door. Once inside, they closed the door, but could already hear a break-through into the chamber they had delayed in seconds before.

It was a sprint down the hallway. At the far end, barely discernible to Gimli's eyes, a group was huddled and there were some shouts as the men fought exit past the two guards. The tremendous fury of the Dark Elves drove Elladan, Elrohir and Gimli to the fastest they had ever run, flying over the pools of light from Legolas' fires flickering at lofty heights above. Midway, the hall was broken into. A stampede could be heard behind them, but Gimli dared not look back. He was trailing behind, and needed all the haste he could give.

The pursuit was hot. Close to the great gates, out into the open air of the citadel where the others were congregated, the brothers halted and turned back, anxious to protect the dwarf their friend. Beads of frustration leaked down his ruddy cheeks and into the tangled beard as he fought vainly to keep distance from the oncoming tidal wave of Dark Elves. This time, it was not weapon-play. They meant it for good.

Legolas darted back in and loosed showers of arrows, but they acted like pebbles rather than a dam. Elladan and Elrohir charged back, unsheathing their blades and striking out at those who were lunging for Gimli's unprotected back. There were cries ringing all around and the scraping of metal on metal. Resolutely Gimli dashed for the doors and broke free out of the flooded hall, too out of breath to lend a hand. But he had left behind three elves.

xxxxxx

Elrohir found himself fighting an ever-changing circle noosed around him. It was as if he was swimming in a tumultuous black sea where the wave crests were swords and there was always a heavier current trying to pull him under. To one side, Legolas' blonde head bobbed buoyantly. But to the other, further from the door, Elladan was hardly in sight.

Elrohir plunged his sword into the Dark Elf in his way and hewed a channel back to his brother. Now he saw what the problem was: Elrohir recognised the leader, the avaricious Dark Elf, the "master" whose red eyes glittered as he raised a sword, and swiftly brought it down inches from his brother's head.

Legolas gave a distant shout. "Elrohir!" he said. "I have the threshold! Pull back!"

Elrohir elbowed a couple of Dark Elves brusquely and gave a swipe at the magnetised Dark Elf. The sword-tip caught the sleeve of his robe and bought Elladan a few seconds. When the Dark Elf lifted his face once more, it displayed a lividness which surged fiercer than bubbling lava.

"Come on, Elladan! There is a way out!"

Elrohir turned away fled for the door. But after a few steps, somewhat unexpectedly, something held him back. He slowed and unsurely turned round. The realisation hit him when he saw the figure of the Dark Elf, his arms raised triumphantly like black wings, the white face looking down to something at his feet. Elrohir's eyes dropped below and to his horror found where his brother laid, motionless, blood pooling from a recent wound to the head.

"No!" Elrohir cried, leaping back towards his brother protectively. "Ai, Legolas! Tolo!" He swung his sword around at arm's length, searing the bodies of a semi-circle of Dark Elves and fought back more with a blazing fury. The commander had vanished, having been absorbed into the black net. Behind him, Elrohir was dimly aware of Legolas, who was fighting with a white knife in each hand. Quickly, his breath stolen from his throat, Elrohir bent down and heaved his brother's torso up into his arms. With Legolas' arms arching above he staggered back towards the exit, half-dragging his unconscious brother. Out of nowhere Faramir appeared by his side and lifted Elladan's legs. Then they scuttled through the door.

All of a sudden from the chamber there came a tremendous crash and firelight flew up in the doorway. The friends were startled and looked to each other worriedly. Moments later, Legolas appeared, wisps of his blonde hair awry, his blue eyes bright from the battle.

"Run," he said. "I have loosed a chandelier. They are up in arms. We must go now, while we have a chance, and carry the ill. May no one else among us shed their blood tonight."

xxxxxx

The hobbling group hurried away from the hall, now up in flames, and began to make their way across the courtyard of the citadel. From their left, however, vast numbers of Dark Elves were heading their way, and it was not long before they had figured out who the fleeing party was.

"You go," Legolas said to Aragorn, indicating towards one of the seven points arising from the battlements encircling the citadel. The blade-shaped towers, situated at equal points in the city wall, stretched right down to the base of Minas Morgul and seemed an ideal way to escape without entering the main streets. "I will delay them," Legolas insisted. He brought the black hood over his face to conceal himself once more.

"No," Aragorn shook his head unsurely, while the others fled into the shadow of the tower and began forcing entry through a small door. Legolas' eyes dropped down to Arwen, who lay in his friend's arms.

"You _must_ go," Legolas urged quietly, meeting Aragorn's gaze again. "You can _only_ hope to be protected through my disguise. Let me pursue you to the door."

Aragorn now had no choice. He had a cursing elf charging at him, brandishing a sharp knife, channelling him on pain of death towards the tower. He ran, not looking behind, praying that Legolas would not only guard his back but his own.

Aragorn dashed through the door and breathlessly Legolas arrived at it, swivelling round. The head of the mass of Dark Elves rushed up to him.

"Are they the Master's captives?" One of them asked Legolas, who still held a knife menacingly at the darkened doorway. He inclined his head.

"Surely we should pursue them?" he then pressed Legolas.

"Nay, they are trapped," Legolas laughed coldly. "They will not get out."

Another Dark Elf came to his aid. "Too true," he said, "the spiders have been awakened."

At this, laughter rippled out through the crowd Dark Elves. Legolas looked on unsurely, not knowing how to behave.

"Exactly," he said with conviction, yet inside he had not the exact idea what he was pretending to be so sure about.

"Well," said the former Dark Elf, now turning back to Legolas. "We shall leave them. They will not escape. The orcs are mustered anyway in the streets below, if there is an attack. As for us, we must turn to the citadel now; what a ferocious fire burns within!" He called out to his followers in the Black Speech and then the dark mass moved away towards the burning halls.

For a moment Legolas watched them guardedly, but then he darted through the open doorway and bolted the door securely behind. It was gloomy inside. There were a few torches on brackets thrust out of the walls which threw out an eerie haze, scarcely outlining the huddle of his companions waiting on what appeared to be a landing; stairs came down from the right and descended again on the left, winding back and forth in what could only be described as a squashed and pointed oval shape. Legolas looked up pointedly and saw a grey expanse through the glass skylight.

Someone stepped on his toe and shook Legolas from his reverie. "Oh, sorry!" Éomer apologised. "It is rather cramped here."

"Never mind," Elrohir waved off his excuse. "We have bought some time. We are safe for a while."

A twang of discomfort twisted in Legolas' stomach. Suddenly the shadows climbing out of the vertices of the walls and under the stairs seemed very much more threatening. The words of the Dark Elves warned him that they were not as safe as they thought. "I'm not so sure," Legolas voiced his concern. The tremors in his words alerted the others to his tenseness. "I do not trust this tower; it is too well suited to our convenience. I think we ought to leave it at once."

"What?" exclaimed Gimli, his short broad shadow elbowing back towards Legolas. "After you nearly had yourself butchered to buy us a passage inside? Not so soon, you silly elf! We will make the most of it while we have somewhere so lucky."

"Perhaps we ought to take Legolas' council, Gimli," Aragorn advised. "I trust his eyes and his heart; there are misgivings within me too. But we cannot go out the way we came. We must descend these stairs."

"I agree," Elladan mumbled, having just awakened. His brother joyously wrapped arms round him and began singing in Sindarin.

"Come, follow me," Legolas said, eager to be off. His heart was quivering with every second he was still and he was hopping from one foot to the other in vain hope to allay such anxiety. Even Gimli paid attention to this. The company began to move off down the first steps.

"I must hang back a moment," Aragorn called out, "Arwen is falling weaker again. I fear she needs much water."

In unison Aragorn received many responses.

"How can you not follow your own advice?" Gimli exploded, outraged, but continued to be carried along in the flow of the main party.

"It is true; Beregond informed us that the two women had not been given any water since their capture," Faramir said understandingly, poking his head back over the top of others'.

"I will stay with you," Éowyn volunteered herself.

"Please," Aragorn said, holding a hand up in peace-offering before laying Arwen down carefully on the floor. "I bid you go with the rest. I will not jeopardise your safety for mine."

"But I will," Éowyn said softly, standing resolutely beside him. "For you and Arwen." Aragorn sighed and looked up to see that Faramir had joined her and quite suddenly they were in each others arms, gazing wistfully at each other and murmuring softly. Aragorn sighed again and turned back to Arwen.

Focusing on the task at hand, he took out a shrivelled old pouch from his ranger days, half-filled with water from round about the same time; Aragorn could not remember but he knew it could not be fresh. Nevertheless it was better than nothing, and hurriedly he rummaged around for the rest of the athelas he kept in another pocket; it was all that was left, but Aragorn willingly crushed the soft leaves into the opened flask and inhaled the intense refreshing scent.

Beside his knee, Arwen turned her head as the smell of athelas filled her lungs and her breaths accordingly became deeper. "Estel…" she whispered, lifting up a hand to caress his rough cheek. Aragorn swallowed, realising that he hadn't shaved for days nor been quite so powerfully immersed in a sensation for weeks. And such a slight one at that. Her fingers were so light and moved so gradually, yet rapturous tingles wriggled out through his flesh and made him shiver uncontrollably. He noticed not only the shining of her fully opened eyes, but the tiny quiver of movement as each sigh passed her grey lips. Slowly, rubbing the luscious oils between his thumb and fingertips, Aragorn reached forward and with the pad of his thumb gently ran the silky touch over her bottom lip. Each breath between them erupted in steamy aromas of rich athelas, healing not only the body, but the heart too.

"You came," she murmured, looking up into his eyes. Aragorn could only nod; something painful was caught in his throat. "I had hope right until the end," she continued, her words scarcely audible even to Aragorn, who now was inches from her. "I loved you so much, I knew you would feel my need of you… but then… they made me believe… they said…" She trailed off, her eyes sliding down to the left and her face clouded over.

"What did they say?" Aragorn pressed her. Her head rolled to the side, exposing the slender curve of her neck and delicate line of her cheekbone, leading down to her tempting mouth. Then Aragorn noticed the glistening of her eyes.

"So much…" Arwen began, but her voice caught in the air and her words were stifled by her tears.

"Don't," Aragorn hushed. He wanted to silence her words, he wanted to take her mind away from what had happened, and he wanted to express the great love to her she had confessed she had felt. He meant to press his oily fingers to her lips again, but instead having lost his mind for a second suddenly he found himself pressing a kiss there instead. Aragorn awoke from being lost in the intense sensation, feeling shudders run down all his nerves. He felt Arwen shudder beneath him too, and the drop of a tear onto the back of his hand.

"Sorry," he whispered, drawing back guiltily. He was truly ashamed of himself. He busied his fingers with rearranging his hold on the water-pouch, but all the while watched the trickle of tears leaking from her eyes and running down the side of her head. Awkwardly Aragorn moved himself behind her and brought her up into his arms, lifting the rim of the pouch to her mouth and gradually tipping the water in. He hardly dared watch for fear that Arwen might realise and think even worse of him. Could he not even restrain such boyish emotions? He wondered what the Dark Elves had said to her, knowing it would be a long time before he could ever ask again, but suspecting that it had something to do with his being a mortal. And he was now proving that he was weak. Not to them. But to Arwen. That was even worse.

Aragorn anxiously glanced up, seeing Faramir and Éowyn still huddled close together, but both holding drawn weapons by their sides. As he lowered his head again, his eyes caught sight of the gleam of water as it eased into Arwen's mouth, and Aragorn berated himself heatedly for simply seeing it. He could not understand how so quickly the moment had changed, and after feeling so intimate with Arwen he now felt as if a cold metal wall as wide as Arda separated them. He felt more of a stranger to her than he ever had before. He could not even heal her without feeling uncomfortable. Why could they not be like Éowyn and Faramir, such simple care and love for each other? Why did he have to feel so wretched when he should be embalmed in love?

Arwen shifted in his arms and alerted Aragorn to the present. He wondered if he had been too locked in his thoughts and if there was any danger around. But he could see nothing, and his pacing heart temporarily subsided. He took the water from Arwen's lips and folded the pouch away, also sliding himself out from underneath her, only keeping a reserved arm around her for support.

"Hannon le," she whispered gratefully, her eyes lifting up to his. Her voice was heartfelt, Aragorn knew, and he understood she wasn't thanking him for the water, she was thanking him for everything else he had done to save her. But her eyes were different. And he knew then that he hadn't saved her heart.

"I'm sorry," he uttered, his mind now swimming with all the things he needed to apologise for. "I'm sorry for not looking after you, for not looking after Gondor, for not realising the danger you were in, for not coming sooner, for not loving you each day in the way I should have, the way I want to so much…" His voice cracked and tears were brimming in his eyes and icing up his throat as he clasped one of Arwen's hands in his. He couldn't speak anymore; he could only fight through the mist to look at her, to see her beautiful eyes. The blue eyes equally full of tears, but eyes that flicked away and shielded her heart from his perception.

"Aragorn!" Faramir spoke out harshly. "Something is moving!" Footsteps loudly drew near to them. But Aragorn was frozen, physically unable to take in what was happening before his very eyes, the loss of his Evenstar.

"Aragorn!" Éowyn knocked him out of her way with a sharp elbow and began hoisting Arwen up herself. "Get up, quickly!" He staggered to his feet, flailing out and catching his balance on Faramir while he drew his sword. Quite suddenly, their hoarse breaths were filling the close air loudly, and the clamour of their companions was distant, far below. A dark dread oozed into their hearts.

Out of the blue, Aragorn discerned something moving down from the stairs above. Something twitching and swaying. Something bulbous and with hundreds of glittering eyes.

"Run!" he cried, enveloping Arwen into his arms as he shoved the Steward and his wife behind him down the stairs. Thrashing out with his sword, a smattering of foul-smelling blood flew down on them with the screech of a wounded creature. Aragorn did not even look back. He turned and leapt down the staircase with all the speed he had.

"What is it?" Éowyn wailed, a few steps ahead of him. Their three pairs of feet pounded the stone steps as if they were trying to drum a hole in the solid floor.

"Spiders!" yelled Aragorn. "Great fat spiders! Ai, Legolas' foreboding was right!"

He kept running, turning sharply at every landing to go down another flight. Aragorn was aware of how the flame torches were flickering in the wind of his friends and of the silvery threads that were beginning to descend all around. He risked a peek over the stone rail; about five floors below he saw the main party, whose upturned faces were straining up in alarm.

"Legolas! Elrohir! Elladan, come back!" His plead bellowed out loudly and the sound of his own panic-stricken voice made his bones buckle with fright. Arwen was quivering uncontrollably in his arms while simply ran, his rasping breaths crackling in his own ears in time with hers.

"Estel?" Aragorn heard her tentative voice after he felt the damp sting of tears against his neck. "Please… please promise me you won't let me go again," she wept, stretching two fingers up his collar and enclosing it in her frail grasp. "Please?" she whispered.

"No," Aragorn said defiantly, flying down three at a time. "No, never, I will never ever let you go away from me, I will never let you enter the hands of danger and let you out of the reaches of my love." The spidery ropes were descending around his shoulders by the second, like an enveloping sticky shawl trying to surreptitiously strangle him.

Ahead of him, Éowyn slipped and with a cry she slid headfirst down numerous steps. Roaring, Faramir scrambled back up and caught himself in a net of sticky threads. Aragorn could hardly stop himself in time, jumping unceremoniously over Éowyn's body and tottering to a standstill. He swivelled round and saw around the last bend a mass of dark, round bodies with jerking legs. They were hissing and clicking. Then, down in front of his very eyes, from the balcony rails above more menacing spiders were descending.

Crying out, Aragorn ran down the next slippery stairs, hearing the sharp breaths of Faramir and Éowyn close behind. Below, the sound of pandemonium was uprising: the main group was struggling to speed up and cope with the injured among them, while the three elves were racing back up, now only one floor below.

All of a sudden, something big and black blinded Aragorn's vision and he was struck hard in the side of the head. Reeling and struggling to open his eyes, Aragorn found himself running face-first into a great gluey spider's web; he was lifted up off his feet into mid-air and lunged forward and back, swaying from the force of his own exertion. His wrists and ankles were locked in the cursed bindings, and no matter how much he writhed he could not pull himself, or Arwen, away.

Arwen.

Utter terror filled his heart. He looked down at his hands. She wasn't there. Arwen was not there! She was really _not _there! Aragorn could not believe it, not until he heard her wails ringing around and bouncing off the walls, bringing eternal punishment down upon him. Aragorn craned his neck up, finding to his horror that Arwen was being hoisted up, hanging from a spider's rope bound around her bruised wrists, far away from his aid.

Presently Aragorn found himself needing aid. A huge spider, one like he had only ever seen in Mirkwood, was sitting a hairs' width from his nose, clicking its pincers teasingly and screeching excitedly.

A flurry of arrows whistled past his ears and Aragorn felt the whole web drop down lopsidedly a few feet. Under his neck a rope pulled tight and a gargle escaped his throat as Aragorn was half-strangled. His toes scrabbled on the top of the stair quite feebly and the spider, originally thrown off balance, was now racing back towards his reddening nose with renewed frenzy.

Aragorn had never been so pleased to be winded hard in the chest as he was then. Breath was knocked into him as he was blasted to the floor by either Elladan or Elrohir and that blasted spider was spitted by one of the elves' arrows. Spluttering, Aragorn wobbly stood up, finding his ankles and wrists unhelpfully stuck together.

"Arwen?!" Elrohir said to him, his face wearing a disbelieving frown which said, _where on earth is she now, you silly man?_

Aragorn's rising eyes betrayed his crime.

"No…" The other two elves clustered at Aragorn's side as they beheld Arwen's steady, albeit erratic, ascent up the centre of the staircase. Three greedy spiders, looking very pleased with themselves, were perched around the rail two floors above, winding her up into their grasp, with their legs spinning fervently.

Ripping his ankles apart from each other, Aragorn lunged back up the stairs, his gaze solely fixed on Arwen suspended a floor above them and rising still. Halfway up the next flight, he found Elladan next to him.

"Please forgive me," Aragorn gasped in between great lungfuls of dusty air. Spiders were dropping on them everywhere, of all different sizes, but all hungry and snipping and with a myriad of eyes glued to them, as no doubt they wished their webs were. Aragorn wished he could apologise for many things, but particularly for brazenly asking the son of Elrond to risk his head once again for his cause.

"It was not your fault, Elessar," Elladan said, turning to his friend while offhandedly slitting a spider in two with his sword. "You should not blame yourself for all of this."

Aragorn turned away Elladan's concerned gaze. He could not deny that he did blame himself. How could he not, when he saw how Arwen behaved towards him? Something had happened to her which now meant that the love they had always trusted was now suspected. And only a minute ago, she had begged him to promise that he would never lose her again – a promise which in truth asked for him to assure his love to her – and it had broken in his culpable hands.

"I should have realised before," Elladan said, pointing his sword to the ropes lashed haphazardly across the stairway, under which they were forced to duck. "Elrohir and I scaled down some into the chamber Arwen was in. They were sticky then… painfully so. I cannot believe I did not recognise them! Spiders' threads. Ai! The tremors from the Dark Elves' magic must have dislodged them."

So Elladan was also blaming himself. Aragorn had similar courtesy to change tack of the conversation.

"They must be Shelob's children," Aragorn grumbled with a grimace. "No doubt the Dark Elves drew them here out of Cirith Ungol, where instead they could be fed and in turn used for their evil purposes." Indeed the spiders themselves were evil… whenever they got close, Arwen was wound up higher.

"We cannot cut the cords," Elladan warned, now looking up at Arwen a few feet above them as they still ran. "She will fall." Aragorn's eyes dropped down. It was about ten floors. "It will be best to let them bring her up, then you can take her and I will hold back the rest."

Aragorn nodded in consent. However, just as they were drawing near, the three spiders also seemed to grasp the concept of their plan. Instantaneously, hissing madly and waving their numerous uneven legs at the unwelcome visitors, they began letting Arwen down again, much more quickly.

"Go!" Elladan cried. Aragorn heaved himself up onto the low wall and jumped over to the descending sticky rope. He caught it, or rather, it caught him and his clothes, and Aragorn found himself rapidly passing floor by floor. Clearly the spiders were not so in control with his weight on the line too. He prised his chest and hands away from the string and crawled down edgily. On glancing up, he saw that Elladan was currently keeping the spiders preoccupied, so that they might continue their descent to the ground.

However, just as Aragorn passed by in a blur Legolas and Elrohir, who were fending off a mountain of spiders, another spider jumped across the stairwell and caught Arwen with it. The thread they were hanging from was yanked off to the side and Aragorn found himself slammed into the wall on the edge of the stair. Blinking dazedly he hauled himself up, prepared to do whatever it took to kill this pesky fat spider.

That was before he saw how big it was. Once Aragorn laid eyes on it, he knew the fight would not be a straightforward one. This one was most definitely a relative of Shelob's and most definitely much bigger than its companions. With four of its legs spinning Arwen's struggling body, it was positively glowing with gluttony. Arwen was too weak to resist, simply rolling round and round as she was wrapped up in glutinous threads.

Crying out, Aragorn slashed his sword Andúril through the air and whipped at the creature's legs. It gave a screech and dropped Arwen's limp body, turning instead to Aragorn and getting ready to sting him. Dodging out of the way, Aragorn thrust his sword towards the belly of the spider while grasping Arwen's half-wrapped body with his other arm. Just as he stood up, the spider lunged for him and Aragorn was thrown back against the wall; and he was winded for the second time that evening.

"Legolas!" he shouted over his shoulder, hoping the elf would be able to spare an arrow - or even better, two. He was forced to relinquish Arwen and instead manhandle the bulky spider and its uncountable legs – they seemed to all be springing from nowhere just as they whacked him in uncomfortable places. He was just cutting some of them in half when an arrow shot past his right ear and plunged straight into the spider's black eyes. It lurched backwards and after going into sickening convulsions, it abruptly curled up, dead.

Aragorn turned, initially relieved, to find that once again, Arwen had been snatched away, and was currently levitating into the air again, courtesy of another fat spider. He also spied Elladan sliding down the handrail on what looked like the shell of a dead spider, so desperate he was to get to the bottom of the infested tower.

"Legolas!" Aragorn called again. "Shoot that spider!" His friend looked down from the stair opposite him, his left arm subconsciously slamming up into an attacking spider.

"But she will fall," he replied in confusion, as Elladan went riding past on the low wall, leaning in to circumnavigate the corner.

"Just do it!" Aragorn howled, in such a pitiful and pleading voice that on hearing it Legolas could do no more than uplift his apprehensive eyes and let an arrow soar towards the twisting rope. It snapped and the end pinged back like a spring. Arwen's bounds flew away, but so did she. She was pelting through the air even faster than Elladan was shooting along the handrail. Arwen was falling, falling down to the ground six floors below.

Aragorn saw this with fearful eyes. There was nothing else for it. He flung himself over the handrail, enveloping Arwen in his huge outreached arms, before cascading at lightning speed down past flights of stairs, each one flickering like a memory in his mind; until with an almighty thump he landed hard on the ground, smitten with a terrible blast of pain. Yet through this, he could feel Arwen's gentle body cushioned within the warm shell of his great embrace, and one thought held him alive: this time, he had proved that he could save his love, Arwen, and their baby, and even if he did not succeed, he would willingly sacrifice himself trying.


	32. Relinquishing the Shadow

Sorry this has taken a while! You won't believe it but telephone wire has been stolen in my village so I am stuck without internet at home which is very annoying indeed. Many thanks to people to have reviewed but I haven't replied to - I would have if I had more free time at school...

32. Relinquishing the Shadow

A peculiar haze was undulating as if he was lying on the sea bed, staring up at the grey waves rippling along the film above, except that the salt was stinging in his eyes badly. In fact, everything was aching terribly, and he was suffocating, but under what, he could not tell. Then Aragorn remembered the spiders. The spiders! Two black round objects had suddenly loomed out of the haze, and were now growing as they drew closer. He tried to cower away, but was weighted immovably to the spot like an anchor. Then he saw that they were in fact two eyes set in the face of Éomer, not spiders at all.

"Relax, my lord, while my sister tends to you." Éomer's voice was wafted away as he drew back to seemingly stab a piece of air – but everything was so dark and dismal Aragorn supposed it must have been another tiresome spider. He clearly was not looking hard enough.

Aragorn blinked several times and gradually became more aware of what was happening. He found Éowyn at his side, currently with her arms around Arwen, whose eyes were closed. Aragorn bolted upright, to Éowyn's harsh scolding, but that was nothing compared to the vicious punishment that his own unforgiving head forced upon him.

Groaning, Aragorn ignored her and staggered to his feet with one hand clapped to his temples. On looking up, he saw spirals of cobwebs hanging down from the lofty stairwell far, high above and flocks of hungry spiders descending and shinnying down rhythmically. Little bits of sticky threads kept falling and settling like dust on his hair and in his eyes. Shaking his sore head a little tentatively, Aragorn then noticed a cluster of people, whom he recognised as the captives, protectively huddled over to one side by a door. Nearer to him were Éomer, Gimli and Faramir, all engaged in vigorous fights with the giant spiders in order to keep the captives, the women, and him safe. Despite feeling compelled to help, Aragorn found this a rather pleasant change and spared a few seconds longer just watching.

Currently, Éomer was wrestling with a spider who had decided to sit on his plumed helmet. Éomer was trying to remove the helm, but each time his hands came anywhere near, the spider probed him away with its armoured legs and resumed jabbing him playfully in the eye. Aragorn turned his eyes away from this seemingly hopeless case to Faramir, who seemed to have an avalanche of spiders pouncing on him and trying to string him up. Meanwhile Gimli was hacking at anything and everything with his trusty double-headed axe, lopping legs off here, sending bits of web flying there, and knocking out spiders cold everywhere. He nearly knocked out Éomer too, but luckily (for the King of Rohan) as he was caught off balance, the spider slipped down the helmet onto Éomer's shoulder. This battle eventually ended as Éomer swung his sword over his head, missing the spider but cutting its lifeline-thread, so that it clattered to the floor, and just as Éomer raised his sword for the final fatal thrust – Gimli whacked his axe into its body before careering off towards the horde of spiders plaguing Faramir.

Aragorn saw his friend standing dejectedly, hanging his head low in defeat as his eyes stared dimly at the mangled corpse of the spider. Sighing, Aragorn moved forward and looped an arm around Éomer's shoulders. "Never mind," he said solemnly, "you fought bravely until the last."

Éomer was just opening his mouth, no doubt to respond with a similar cynical comment, when Elladan burst into view, leaping over the spider bodies scattered around.

"Estel!" he cried. "Bless the Valar above, you are alive! I would never have believed it!" The elf threw his hands around Aragorn, subsequently pushing crestfallen Éomer to one side. "But get yourself out of danger!" His tone suddenly hardened. "I will not let you be injured again. A fall like that cannot have let you off lightly. Now move over to the others!"

Aragorn found himself being propelled backwards, under the shelter of the stairs, along with Éomer, who could not understand why he was not being allowed to fight too. He was going to complain to the pushy elf, when something caught his eye; in the arms of Éowyn, now safely amid Erandur and Beregond, Arwen was stirring.

"She is unhurt," Éowyn breathed, astonished. "Aragorn," she said, seeing him fall to his knees on Arwen's other side, "how was it that you came to fall together?"

Aragorn barely heard her, for he was so intent on taking Arwen's hand and striving to pour any strength left within him into her. "A spider was winding her up and Legolas shot the thread and I jumped to save her from the blow," he muttered, tracing two fingers down the side of her face.

"Goodness!" Éowyn exclaimed, even more stunned at Aragorn's lack of enthusiasm for his heroic deed. "But… surely you are hurt?"

"Nay, it is nothing," Aragorn said, lifting Arwen into his hold and standing up. "Look, they are coming."

The group turned and saw Elrohir and Legolas running down the final stairs, before dashing across the hallway and scooping Gimli and Faramir with them. A mob of angry spiders was pursuing them.

"Estel, are you alright?" Elrohir asked as he drew near.

Legolas laid a hand tenderly on Aragorn's shoulder. "Mellon nín…" he murmured, washing an anxious gaze over his friend, as if trying to soothe his pains.

"What is all this bedlam?" Gimli barged through their legs, leaving behind a floor piled with dead spiders two-high. "There is nothing wrong with Aragorn! What is wrong is that now I am not fighting them, this pack of spiders is about to eat us alive! Why are we not leaving this abominable tower?"

"Indeed," Aragorn laughed, ushering everyone closer to the door while Faramir fumbled with the lock.

"Aragorn," Legolas said with an urgent look in his eyes, "I looked up the stairwell just now, and I confess that I saw a silhouette against the sky light, at the top of the staircase. I fear the Dark Elves have learned of our escape from the spiders."

Aragorn met his friends' strained gaze grimly, now doubting if their escape would be able pass any less smoothly than it already had. But suddenly a hand grabbed Aragorn's arm and he was yanked sideways through the door by a gruff and grumbling Gimli. Smiling weakly, Legolas followed, quickly shutting the door behind, and more importantly, Shelob's spinning children.

The winter air was bitterly cold but Aragorn welcomed it immensely after the torturous time spent in the tower, where the lashings of thick spiders' webs had made the air very tight and stuffy. But their luck had not improved much from escaping that terror. Aragorn cast his eyes around, recognising the city wall behind him and the way leading down to the main gates on his right; he would have seen the road, if it was not for the innumerable orcs waiting there. A danger even closer to hand was the pair of Dark Elves who had been on guard at the base of the tower from which they had erupted.

One had made for Faramir as soon as he had opened the door, but luckily Gimli had taken him down almost instantly. However the other was niftier and had hidden behind one of the pillars on either side of the door. Now he lunged out, knife in hand, straight for Aragorn's back.

Legolas let out a shout but the Dark Elf's other fist swung round to hit him hard in the stomach. Aragorn ducked just in time, stumbling sideways into Elladan with the weight of Arwen still in his arms. Éomer leaped forward and took the chance to have his moment of glory: he kicked the elf in the shins and wrestled him tightly to the ground, kneeling on his back, and raised his spear triumphantly.

Yet just as he was about to slay the overshadowed Dark Elf, Arwen cried out. Éomer looked up in confusion, and to be truthful, a touch of exasperation.

"No…" she whimpered. "Please." She pulled herself out of Aragorn's grasp while he was not concentrating and knelt down beside Éomer, with her eyes focused on the back of the Dark Elf's head as if she could see something which they could not.

"They are one of our kin," Elladan muttered, his eyes glassy and his voice full of emotion. He understood how his sister felt, yet he had learned from previous battles that attachments to the enemy were dangerous, and for you to live, you could not see the other as like you.

"No," replied Aragorn, coming to her side. "Arwen, no longer do they belong to your people. Their purpose in Middle-Earth has been corrupted. They do not carry the light of the elves within their souls. They have been claimed by the Shadow. You can see this clearer than me… do not burden your heart with their passing."

Despite his reassuring words, Arwen began to cry fitfully. "No… they must come back." She moved forward to help him.

"No, Arwen!" Aragorn put his hands around her body and pulled her back towards him, shielding her eyes from the Dark Elf. Trembling, she rested her cheek on his shoulder but still pressed her hands against his torso, straining to fend him off.

Elladan watched his sister with much sadness. "Some things cannot be healed…" he said to her. "Arwen, when one has been claimed so fully by the powers of darkness, there is no coming back." He stroked her cheek and brushed off her tears.

Arwen sobbed.

Elladan glanced away. "Come," he said quietly, indicating to Éomer to slay the Dark Elf when Arwen was not present. "Look!" he exclaimed. "Legolas is providing us with a distraction once more."

Aragorn turned to see and they rejoined the main company. At its head an elf cloaked in black, who could only be Legolas (for there was no blonde head in sight), was speaking with animated gestures to an orc chief. When Aragorn drew nearer, he picked up Legolas' words.

"The Master's instructions were open the city gates, I tell you!" he said angrily, spitting at the orc, who was currently looking stubborn. "He wants them banished from Minas Morgul!"

"But surely we should just kill them?" The orc protested petulantly, eying Arwen's curled-up body with greedy eyes. "Why let them go? Such fresh meat…" He licked his lips threateningly.

"Are you daring to question his word?" Legolas snarled, grabbing the orc by the shoulder. "If you do not comply, you will not live to see the morning! You and your maggots will be thrown to the spiders, if you are not careful." The orc froze and his expression instantaneously merged into one of terror. "You know his plans. They will go ahead. And you will not disrupt any part. So _open the gates_." Legolas relinquished the orc and added an extra hiss, before watching the orc hurriedly usher some minions to unbar the gates. He turned his hooded head back to the party, revealing to them a secretive smile.

"Go," he shouted to them coldly, a condemnatory tone in stark contrast to his face. "And never return."

As Legolas turned back to behold the orcs' work, giving his friends the chance to escape, he saw that the mannerisms of the orcs had significantly altered. They were motionless and stunned, staring out of the city's opening in fear and incomprehension. Legolas swivelled round and saw, gliding out of the grey night along the road, many silver lights.

Aragorn turned back to Legolas in confusion. What part of his plan was this?

"I expect these are the reinforcements," Legolas said airily. Then his tone hardened once more. "Stay here; leave the gates open. I will go and greet them."

Wordlessly Legolas glided forward to join the party who were speeding down the paved road as fast as they possibly could, unable to believe that they had walked under the archway and were actually leaving Minas Morgul. Everyone was quivering with delight, overwhelmed with relief and full of desperation to leave the terrible city. Aragorn could not make himself realise that they were finally out. It just would not sink in. He was so sure that they would be unable to escape that he was convinced that Legolas spoke totally candidly and that reinforcements of orcs or even Dark Elves were coming to corner them.

"Rejoice, Aragorn!" Legolas laughed, glancing over his shoulder to check that he was far enough away before putting an arm around his friend. "We are free from Minas Morgul!" Aragorn turned back unsurely. He strained his eyes avidly when he fancied that he caught sight of a figure-like shadow tracing their steps behind them on the road; but Legolas laughed. "Do not burden yourself with the past now, Elessar."

Aragorn sighed without conviction, looking away from the vanished form. "We may be free at this moment, but look what approaches. Free for how much longer? And Gondor is still not freed from the forsaken city."

"Ah," said Legolas slyly, and as Aragorn lifted his gaze up to him he raised his eyebrows knowingly. "So Elrohir and Elladan have not enlightened you?"

"Wh-" Hearing this, the brethren turned round smiling. "Your eyes do not deceive you, Elessar," Elrohir said. "Behold the silver lights. No enemy has ever born such a likeness to them."

Curious, Aragorn craned his neck to see – and then he heard the sound of many horns being blown in unison – horns like the sound of trumpets with a rich, antique sound which made him shiver with emotion inside. "It cannot be…" he breathed. Arwen felt for his hand.

"Yes," Legolas confirmed, "they are elves. I knew that people from my woodland realm were coming to Ithilien some time soon, but Elladan and Elrohir informed me of how close they were to arriving when we met at Henneth Annûn."

"So that is where you sent Arwen's horse?" Aragorn gasped, clearly recognising the elven banners and warriors now. "I knew you had a cunning plan!"

Erandur must have been eavesdropping, for on hearing this news he ventured to speak. "Is it to bold to hope that you may have come across another horse, too?" he asked.

"Indeed," Elladan replied, smiling gladly. "A lovely horse. Yours I believe? They came and went together." Erandur glowed eagerly. "And I should expect to see the two horses soon, along with our own steeds. We left them just out of sight of the city. When the elves have passed, our journey home is upon the horizon."

The perfectly uniform lines of elves were now at hand and the companions filed along the side of the road, by the bridge, ready to let them pass. Aragorn gazed at them in wonder, recognising at least half of the faces in the first row. Their leader nodded to him and smiled, unsheathing his sword. In unison, like one magnificent shadow, the entirety of the elves behind him followed suit.

"Look now, Aragorn," Faramir whispered to him, indicating to the elves' approach up to the gates of Minas Morgul. "Finally you will be rid of this curse upon your lands. Gondor will be free, and this city of kings will be cleansed by the elves. Exult in this moment, for we can only be sure of happier times ahead!"

There were sounds of shouting and horrified screams; orcs were running out of the gates to attack the elves. Instinctively, the group recoiled and began to squeeze their way over the bridge and back along the road, resolutely not looking at the hypnotising mists poised in wait over the marshes lying below. They were driven by a fire fiercer and stronger than anything they had ever felt; the compulsion to leave after so long was so vivid that they were only spurred on to go faster and relinquish the past forever.

The road turned a corner and suddenly Aragorn found himself turning back for one last glance at the face of Minas Morgul. It was still as loathsome as it had appeared hours ago, when first they had come that evening to gain entry. How long ago that seemed now! Ages could have passed by when they were entombed in that torturous prison. Life had no place in there, nor time. He dared not believe that now they had escaped – all alive. But with what wounds? Minas Ithil may be washed clean from its potions, the Dark Elves may be slain, the dark secrets may be brought to light; but his memory of it would never change. And would Arwen? Would the damage which they had done to her ever heal? Somehow at this moment Minas Morgul inspired a fear more personal and more intimate, and wholly more frightening, than it had before he had entered.

"Estel?" Aragorn looked down to Arwen's upturned face. He quickly shook away the observation that her pallor was a mirror of the city's. He suddenly realised that she was shivering, when he had previously believed it was only him quivering in fear. In his mind he saw clearly now what was scaring him – it was not knowing what had happened to Arwen, and so not knowing how he could help her. His eyes softened and he opened his mouth, about to speak, when Elrohir came up and disturbed them.

"Aragorn, do not wait there… It is best to leave it all behind now…" Elrohir steered Aragorn forcefully out of sight of Minas Morgul and straight over to where the others were all climbing onto their horses, some with extra passengers. But even though his friends were all visibly exultant, Aragorn still felt as if a cold hand was locked tightly around his heart which was struggling to pour out its warm love.

"Goodness," Elrohir exclaimed suddenly as he held Arwen's hand. "Elladan," he called to his brother, "where is Arwen's cloak? Quickly bring it to her." Aragorn frowned slightly, wishing that he could have looked after Arwen better and avoiding her eyes as she looked up at him.

Elladan hurried over, fumbling around with his hands inside his clothes. After a noticeable delay he raised up his head with a worried expression on his face. "It's not there," he said softly, plunging his hands back under his leather tunic again. "It's gone."

"What?" Elrohir walked forward, expressing much confusion. "But I saw you tuck it inside your clothes, to keep it safe."

"I cannot have lost it… I would have noticed it fall," Elladan murmured, staring at his chest blankly. Elrohir was throwing guilty looks at his sister, whose glassy eyes were focused back on the road from which they had come. The peak of the dreaded tower could still be seen over the rocks around the road. Noticing this, Aragorn shifted to the side and blocked her view.

"Do not worry," Aragorn said, holding up a hand in amity before guiding Arwen into Elrohir's arms. He whirled his elven cloak off his shoulders and then wrapped it warmly around Arwen's trembling form. On hearing his voice, his horse had already wandered over to him and now Aragorn climbed up onto the saddle. The two elves helped their sister up into Aragorn's arms. She snuggled up close to his warm body, her tired eyes falling shut. "Do you have more athelas?" he asked them.

"No," they both shook their heads. "But I have some coilas leaves, if that would help?" Elladan said, having found them in his search for Arwen's twilight cloak. He passed them up to Aragorn along with some water, but both of them knew how special Arwen's cloak was, and no amount of allaying her physical pain would make her pain on realising that her twilight cloak had been left in Minas Morgul less when she found out later.

"Come," Aragorn called out loud and clear into the crisp air as the last riders mounted their horses. "Let us ride on to Minas Tirith and meet the sunrise. It does not do to dwell here any longer in this waning night." He spurred on his horse and soon the chorus of thudding hooves was drumming behind him while he galloped west, home. The wind whipped heartlessly through his clothes, but down in his lap Arwen was sheltered from its icy breath.

"Arwen," he whispered, while he carefully crushed the emerald coilas leaves into the water, "this will help to ease your pain." She wearily opened her eyes and slender white fingers began to appear climbing over the edge of the cloak, which was cosily wrapped up to her neck. Aragorn gently pushed the flask into her hand, not wanting to spill it over her in the rocking of the horse. Appreciatively Arwen began to drink the warming remedy; yet Aragorn remained restless.

"I am sorry it is not hot… The steam it produces would be sweet and uplifting for the spirit; but there is no time to make a fire." The grey shapes of trees flashed past and they flew across the crossroads, out into the open for a second and then back into shadow, just like the myriad of rushing thoughts in his mind. Aragorn glanced down and found Arwen's blue eyes focused intently on his. He gave a start and his heart jumped.

She spoke to him softly, her voice just as ethereal and touching as it had ever sounded to him. "You should drink this, Estel," she murmured slowly, lightly pressing the pouch against his fingertips. A frown creased his brow, but he took hold of it anyway, relenting to the sway she always held over him. Arwen gave him a brief smile, looking down at the remedy before meeting his eyes once more. "I fear that you may need it as much as me."

Aragorn's eyes filled with tears, for so greatly was he touched. "No, Arwen," he breathed. "I would give it all to you, no matter how much pain I was in, for you are in more."

Arwen smiled sadly. "But I am giving it to you," she replied, "because I know that you bear my pain as well as your own."


	33. Misty Mistakes

I feel like I am always apologising for being slow in updating, but here it is at last! I will update again before Christmas, but I have Cambridge interviews in a week's time so my time is cut out for a while. Enjoy this chapter!

33. Misty Mistakes

An eternity spent walking the Halls of Mandos would not feel as long as the night Arwen had suffered, and was still enduring. Nor could she see how an eternity spent fathoming out her predicament would help her untie the tangled web of confusion which she now had become. If death came, feeling the warmth of life seep out of her ever-cooling body would be less painful than the icy aching from the numerous wounds she had lost memory of; her body was drowned in a holistic sort of burning pain. But above all she could not even start to work out whether it would hurt more parting from Aragorn forever by death, or forever watching him as she was now, watching him hurting.

Arwen sank under the edge of his cloak until it covered her nose and made a line just below her eyes. His once-comforting scent filled her lungs and swept on to her heart, while her body soaked in his faint warmth. But although she wished she could be at ease and bask in the balm of Aragorn's presence, her heart only twitched sickeningly faster and colder flames stole under her skin, making her recoil away into herself.

This only fuelled Arwen's terrible confusion further. Her thoughts swirled around like a mad snowstorm; only it was also dark, and utterly cold, and she was quite alone, with no way of finding which way she should go. Even if she found out which way home was, she was not even sure she would go that way. She was a lone, solitary figure, abandoned to sob wretchedly in her own misery.

Simultaneously Arwen wanted to love Aragorn and to hide away from him. Realising this made her feel bashfully ashamed. She had truly tried to thank him for all that he had done for her, not blaming him in the slightest for what had happened. Instead the words of the condescending Dark Elf kept reverberating in her mind, only now they were spoken in her own voice. She wholly believed it was her fault for what had happened, and no matter how much reason tried to console her, Arwen shrank further into her own grave of culpability.

It was solely because of Aragorn that she was here, alive and safe. Yet she did not feel the same as she had before this whole trauma had taken place. It hurt to understand that her feelings for Aragorn had changed, and that by itself that made Arwen feel horrendously guilty; but because it was he who had saved her she felt even worse. He only acted altruistically, demonstrating so much love by constantly caring for her above the rest of Arda, because she meant more to him than anyone else. Now Arwen felt that she did not deserve his unconditional love.

But was that it? Or was she pretending to believe that, when in truth she did not want him to love her? She could not help adhering to what the Dark Elves had said about Aragorn; she could not defy thinking about that devastating opinion of him. Now she did not know whether to believe as she always had. The seed of doubt had been sown, and its niggling presence would not subside.

Aragorn had made so many promises of his love to her which she had always trusted. And she had forgiven him for not protecting her. But when she needed him most, when she needed so desperately to hear that he would always love her, always keep her safe, he had let her down. The ordeal from being captured by giant spiders did not in itself scare her as much as the promise spoken so brazenly echoing in her head, broken seconds after being made. Arwen's wisdom told her it was folly to take such a triviality so seriously, but she just could not forget it. Did Aragorn truly love her? Was his heart as true as she had always believed?

She had been so frightened when he had spoken harshly to her about the Dark Elf he wanted to be slain. He had been brought up by elves, loved by elves. She was so sure he would understand her, but he had not. He knew how much she hated killing living creatures, so why was he being so heartless? Why did he not realise? To her, the likeness between herself and the Dark Elf was so strong. She knew their power had shattered who she was and she was afraid of what they had done to her: would _she_ come back? When Aragorn had proclaimed that the once-elf was now forever overshadowed, she had quivered self-consciously inside. Could she ever become who she used to be? Could she love Aragorn again? When she had been vulnerable and open to the pronouncement, his behaviour had fallen down. The clarity between elf and man now shone so clearly, Arwen saw it more definitively in her mind than anything else. Her decision to stay in Middle-Earth was plaguing her every thought.

A cold shudder washed down Arwen's body and she glanced at Aragorn's face fearfully. It was unbearable being wrapped up in this knot and being unable to untie a way out. She could not understand herself, and thus had no hope in understanding Aragorn either. She was reasonably convinced that he loved her still; except not wholly. There was something holding him back, something which made him refrain from loving her as passionately and truly as he had always before. When his eyes met hers, a grey misty shutter diffused over their surface and prevented his heart from flowing out into hers. She could sense warmth trapped inside him, but a cold barrier was preventing it from reaching her. The troubled lines permanently engraved on his forehead revealed it all; he was ill at ease with her.

Guilt and blinding terror racked through Arwen's shaken body. She was convinced it was because of her. He was pained to see her lost seemingly irretrievably in herself, and now Arwen was also ashamed that he might know she was unsure of her feelings for him and was irrevocably hurt. She did not want too lose all that she had in this world quite yet; nevertheless she was not sure if that was what she wanted anymore. She needed time alone, time to find herself and to find where her heart really lay.

Arwen's experience with the Dark Elves had thoroughly shaken her up. What she had once loved and longed for, she now dreaded. Whenever Aragorn touched her she felt threatened, wounded, and robbed of who she was. But without truly knowing who she was she had no way of explaining this to Aragorn. And so she was quite alone; quite separated from him. He could not help her this time. Although she wished he could, and she wished that she still felt the same way, she did not. So while he gazed at her, straining to work out her thoughts, Arwen shied away and, hidden under his cloak realised that honestly, she was afraid that he still loved her, and afraid that she loved him. Whirling in this incessant pool of thought, Arwen closed her eyes and softly began to cry to herself, stifling her breaths with streams of tears.

xxxxxx

Aragorn did not know what to do. All around, the night was quite silent, waiting with bated breath for him to pound along with his mind-made path and reveal his plan. Luke-warm weariness had dissolved into cool sadness. Aragorn longed to speak, to articulate his feelings to someone, but words could not convey how his heart had sunk. He was mystified as to the reasons why. He was lost and he did not know what he ought to do next.

It was with the sharpest anguish that Aragorn realised how Arwen was crying. He did not need to feel the slightest tremble of her body against his to know so; like a unique sense, he could see, or feel, or recognise in his mind her utter loss and despair, as if his heart was a mirror of hers and with each sob, another pang tore his heart. He did not need to see through the cloak, beneath which Arwen had concealed herself from him, to discern why she behaving so. All he wished was that there was an answer for him.

How could he comfort her, when all she desired was distance? And yet how could she survive, so alone as she was? Aragorn understood that her predicament was because of him and so he wanted to help change that. If only there was a way… but his Evenstar was torn. She wore night like a shroud about her to dim her inner light, and though only love could save her now, whatever Aragorn did, it would only hurt Arwen more.

Hence Aragorn sighed, raised his glassy eyes to the heavens, and prayed with dire need for the abominable night to quickly come to an end.

xxxxxx

They had been riding for a long time. Mists were still heavily weighting down the air and trapping the darkness, so it was not the approach of dawn which revealed this to Arwen. She had not slept for a minute, not since being in Aragorn's presence, but she had tolerated the rough journey as surreptitiously as one bound in hazy traumatic dreams. The drink from coilas leaves which Aragorn had given her had indeed worked: Arwen had been invigorated and filled with hotness from the inside. But knowing that Aragorn had caused it made her stomach churn. The healing leaves tickled and burned her throat and uncomfortably kept her trapped in the unrelenting present, thrown brutally about on the galloping horse. Her bones ached, like thin glass about to shatter, while her flesh that was not bleeding was bruised blue under her translucent skin. Undying fatigue bore down like a great hand on her mind, squeezing her sore eyes and clapping in her ears, but the fire from within would not let her go. In his attempt at kindness, Aragorn had trapped her deeper in the pit of pain.

He was driven by a lust to reach Minas Tirith as soon as possible, Arwen could tell. His body which encompassed her was tense and the furious speed was maintained ceaselessly. That fierce force she felt inside him frightened her. What would he make her do, when they finally arrived there? Was anger gradually bottling up inside him, cold fury that she had betrayed their love and bitterness starker than an elf's taste of mortality? Arwen could not stop trembling. She should have been warmed, soothed, cuddled in a soft loving embrace, but instead she was left as cold as if she had been without the cloak, without a man's body next to her, lying in the snow; uncomforted and held seemingly against her holder's will, or because he wanted to subject her to pain. The sobs welled up uncalled for and nothing could hinder them. Arwen shook as the tears broke out, longing beyond desperation for a dream in which life was as perfect as it had been, where love was as true and pure and resilient as it always was and she and Aragorn were who they had used to be. But nothing changed. Her breaths were further strangled. Aragorn did not seem to notice.

xxxxxx

"Aragorn, morning is coming." Calling to him, Legolas rode up to the King's side and nodded over his shoulder. After a moment dislodging from his thoughts, Aragorn slowly looked behind.

"It is as dark as it ever was, my friend," he replied despondently.

"It is merely the winter mists, lying over the land!" The elf laughed to himself. "If you will not see that, then look at what progress we have made. We are already at Osgiliath. You have led us on a good course. How you must long to be back at home, to have ridden so far so fast!"

"If only home was on the path ahead," Aragorn said more softly and raised his grey eyes up to his friend. Legolas' blue eyes pierced his and looked deeply into his friend for a long while. Then they momentarily dropped down to the elf cradled in his arms before wheeling back to the road ahead of them.

"Let us slow down, Aragorn," he suggested amicably. "We should not wake the people with our horses' drumming hooves through the silent streets."

The company compressed on slowing down, like a bird, flying swiftly, which drops to the water and suddenly moves much slower. Each second dragged by, weighted on the scuffle of horses and the disquieting murmur of voices behind. The beat of hooves rang still in Aragorn's ears, as if after so long so loud it was hard to remove the persistent sound. Yet he was aware of the city's stillness and it made him uneasy. Repeatedly Aragorn turned round in his saddle, anxiously penetrating the darkness with his flickering eyes.

"Do not burden yourself with what has happened." Legolas' sudden words made Aragorn swivel round quickly and Arwen whimpered softly in his lap. Aragorn's guilty eyes lifted up to Legolas.

"It is not your fault, Estel," he whispered. "You have always done what you thought was right."

"But how do I know for sure that I was right? I have made many mistakes… too many, blinded by the loftiness of being a King and ruler," Aragorn hissed. "And I have not even done that well. I need only look at what has happened tonight to see that that is true."

"Nay!" Legolas said urgently, keeping his voice down low so that others would not overhear. "These emotions you are feeling are reminders of who you really are. You have not lost yourself in pride; you never have. When I saw you, months ago, it was love and fear you were feeling; not for yourself, but for her." Aragorn swallowed, looking away and trying to divert his memories with the uncomfortable feeling of an ice-cube lodged in his throat. "Why are you looking back on all your memories, those which are dearest and closest to your heart, and scarring them all with lies? You have always had a true heart, Estel; do not doubt yourself like this. You have proved your valour tonight ten times over. You have the same compassionate soul which you bore when first I met you… when first you met Arwen."

Aragorn's pulse was racing. He turned to his friend. "But why has this happened? How can I move forward and do what is right now without understanding the past?"

Legolas gazed at his friend wisely. "It is through things which are out of our control that what has come to pass has done so in such a manner. Yet we are each in control of ourselves, and you, Estel, must keep true to yourself. For you have a greater power than you even dare to imagine, and when you trust yourself, many others will trust you."

Aragorn's eyes betrayed his next question before he had even begun to speak. "But will she?" he asked, barely audible since his breaths were so distressed. But Legolas did not even need to read his friend's lips.

"I cannot say," Legolas began, but on seeing Aragorn drop his head in despair he paused to take a breath. "I cannot say what Arwen has experienced," he explained fully, causing Aragorn to raise his head attentively, "but I know that you understand her more than even her brothers or me. She needs you as much now as she ever has. Her doubt is about herself more than you. Once you show her that you love her as you have unwaveringly for all these years through so much other pain, she will begin to heal. Together, you will heal, for you can help her to understand herself."

xxxxxx

Arwen stirred and cautiously drew back the corner of the cloak under which her face was veiled. There was a stillness about the night which made itself noticeable without definition. It was the deep breath which night takes before the first light of day; the lulling sound just before a bird begins to call rang silently in the air, while water lapped softly at the stony river-banks. The breaths of Arwen's companions were loudly distinctive in the untouched atmosphere and the faintest movement of air brushed her hair over her cheek as if a lace of thin threads holding the moment together in a delicate balance was being tested.

On slowly easing herself up Arwen saw the grey figure of Legolas astride his mount pass just in front of Aragorn's horse and turn right to look across her. She followed his line of gaze and saw a stone balustrade lining the road, beyond which was a flat hoary river. It glistened dimly, like stars glinting from behind filmy clouds, as its silent current crept southwards like a Ranger stealing past on a mission, hidden in the night.

Aragorn brought the horse to a standstill, and consequently Legolas copied him. The outlines of Elrohir and Elladan drifted into sight by Legolas, but everyone remained very quiet. There was a sound of a pebble dropping into water. The mists lining the sky teased apart in the west and in a small window the low moon shone out with cold radiant light. It glanced off the ring of Barahir on Arwen's finger and she looked up to Aragorn's face.

He gave her a gentle smile, while guiding his horse a few steps closer to the low wall along the edge of the bridge. The moonlight was dancing on his face, and with no readable expression lying there, Arwen's memory passed back years ago to walks beneath trees at night where she had seen him look the same, like a mirror into their past. The cool air upon bare skin reminded her of the times which she had spent with Aragorn, when love's warmth had melted the icy chill away. The only light she had needed to find her way was that which glimmered in Aragorn's eyes.

"I love you," he whispered, washing his gaze fluidly over her face. Arwen felt herself smiling. Aragorn's hand softly pressed itself upon her rounded stomach, warmly caressing their baby she bore within, and sweet tingles erupted and inflated her heart. "There is still that light in your eyes, meleth nín," Aragorn murmured. Arwen looked up and met his eyes, feeling now something so beautiful between them which she had believed so certainly to have been lost.

"Estel…" she breathed. But Arwen did not finish her sentence.

For there was a sharp whistle, as of the wind channelled down to a narrow point, and in an instant Legolas gave a piercing shout, with dire panic in his voice. It was with horror that Arwen saw Aragorn's expression of magnanimity turn to one of pain. Something struck Aragorn's left hand which was cradling her and he flinched, crying out and recoiling his hand into his chest. Amid this commotion and the alarmed shouts of their friends, Aragorn's horse reared up in terror and out of control bolted straight forwards.

Released for just a second from Aragorn's caring hold, Arwen was flung sideways off the horse with no way to save herself. Bound up in his cloak, as she bumped against the stone rail her arms were locked within and she was unable to reach out. Instantaneously, as all feeling flew out of her, Arwen realised what was happening. She was falling over the bridge.

Terror struck her heart as she somersaulted and plummeted through the air. Her eyes could only see swirls of blue and grey, sour as the cold air whipped them. She knew she was gathering speed, for there was an unnerving sensation of having separated her soul from her body, and suddenly, but not unexpectedly, there was a tremendous crash.

Everything went utterly black and the sharpest, coldest pain imaginable blazed through Arwen's entire body, hurting hardest in her heart. She sank far down into the waters of the Anduin, paralysed from fear united with pain. Her mind was stupefied and her heart froze. All she could think about, if thinking it was, was the entrancing swell of cold water around her still body, wrapping around her like giant arms welcoming her into their deathly hold. How alike, and yet so unalike, it was to Aragorn's warm, loving, powerful hold.

A flashing vision of Aragorn blared into her mind and Arwen was seized with terror and felt the frightened child within her kicking out. She lashed out with her limbs and strained against the bindings of the cloak, fighting to swim upwards while the weight of gallons of water bore her down. Her chest was being pressed heavily upon and water was infiltrating her nose sorely and trickling down her taut throat. Now Arwen wished she had taken a deep breath before she had met with the water.

The cloak had become tangled up in Arwen's thrashing limbs and she raised peerless eyes up desperately to the grey surface above. At last the cloak drifted apart in the current of water and Arwen's tightened arms flailed out into the body of water. All air had been sucked out from her lungs and her chest hurt to the point of excruciation; yet on feeling her child moving so vigorously inside, Arwen stretched out with everything she had left within and swam upwards, with each stroke a burden of the world, begging for air to come.

After what felt like an age-long fight, hope was becoming as distant as the smallest star, flickering faintly on the surface of the water. As Arwen felt herself losing grasp of everything, suddenly she broke out of the water and cold air slapped her in the face. Arwen let out a choking gasp and snatched in whatever air she could, while she opened her eyes wide, unseeing, reeling as if balanced on the edge of a seesawing world.

Abruptly a big heavy hand, claw-like in its grip, clamped around her head and plunged her down underwater once more, just as she was inhaling with direst need. Arwen felt her body sink down, with the hard vice locked around her head still, and purposefully pushed herself down even further, before she swam away to one side and the hand fell away.

With a roar in her ears, Arwen shot upward and out of the water again. But this time, as she sucked in her deep breaths, Arwen found that she was not alone in the river. She came eye to eye with the most frightening face she had ever seen. Arwen would have leapt backwards if she had been standing; in the water she shrank away, but the white face followed her, leering. Maniacal red eyes bore into her, burning with devilry and desire for something unimaginably bad. Arwen gulped down some bitter water; she was so frightened in moving away that her chin had descended below the surface of the water, with only her wet big blue eyes shining out.

The Dark Elf, the unforgettable Master, lunged out his swift arms as quick as a fire igniting to latch his hands around each of Arwen's shoulders. She became instantly paralysed at his touch, totally rigid while he pressed his nose inches from hers. A sly leer was on his cold plotting face.

"You thought your love had saved you?" he breathed sinisterly, through clenched teeth. The orange and scarlet wreaths of flames in his eyes leapt erratically in time with his short laughs. "You will _never_ escape from the Shadow!"

Arwen cowered down, now half-submerged. Her pulse was about to burst every vein in her body but the burn of fear coupled with desire to live allayed the iciness of the river. Shouts and noises were ringing all around, yet all she heard were the Dark Elf's cruel words and, now, his preying breaths as he licked his thin lips malevolently. Her shoulders were beginning to ache with a cold pain from where his nails dug into her skin and she was having trouble keeping afloat. With the waves from his body knocking against her cheeks and spraying her eyes, the already dark night became terrifyingly unclear. The only thing Arwen could focus on was his face; his eyes.

At once, the black cores of his eyes expanded and glinted. "You were always my claim, Undómiel. Now I am about to lose my claim on life. Yet I will take you with me." He threw back his head, laughing dementedly. In the second he was not looking, Arwen decided to take her chance and tried to hurriedly swim away. But he instantly felt her move in his grasp and his gaze shot back to her, angrier than ever.

"Now you will know the kiss of eternal death and the wrath of Sauron; soon the loss of your precious life and love will begin haunt your soul and last forever." The Dark Elf thrust himself forward, crushing Arwen's delicate body and forcing her down beneath the waves. He slammed his mouth over hers, suffocating her last breath before she could understand what was happening. Once again, Arwen felt as if her mind and body were somersaulting in different directions; now she could see the black depths of the river bed, now she could see his black and red blazing eyes, watching her feel the world slip away from her outstretched hand.

His lips were sealed against hers; he breathed fumes of poison down her constricted throat, brutally licking her repulsed tongue with vindictive glee. Arwen felt so sickened that her stomach tried to go into convulsions; but without any air she began to choke and her raw lips tried to peel away from his. Yet with her struggling so, the Master and servant of the Dark Lord now took his chance to kick his legs against hers and lock his body around her. Arwen had not the strength to resist as he bent her arm back with a metallic hand and pushed his hard body over hers. Using his other hand now, as Arwen realised what was happening to her, he slid his long fingers around the base of her neck and his sharp nails crawled around in a collar, gradually tightening as he drew blood. This diffused through the water and hovered around like warm red smoke undulating sickeningly in front of her eyes, between her and the embodiment of Sauron.

The pain of the heart now overwhelmed the pain of the body. Arwen knew she was not strong enough to wrench herself out of his hold and yet was so horrified at this form of living that her only hope at this moment was in dying. But she understood that this was his plan. He wanted her to die slowly; he wanted her to know that in the end, he had been right and the Shadow had conquered her body… and her soul.

Hanging there, suspended in the turning grey waters, Arwen waited in the balance. He was pouring himself into her, breaking her body in his rigid hold, and intoxicating her thoughts. Arwen wished she could fight back, and nonetheless she kept on begging desperately for an end, begging openly for death to come and take her now, before it became even worse. She was wracked in distress because she knew that this was at last the Shadow, coming to claim her. She felt absolute sorrow, sensing her baby reach out to press his tiny hands upon her flesh, straining to soothe her and pleading for her to save them both. Yet every time she tried to break free, the horrors of the present were too vivid and distorted for her to be inspired for life again. Arwen's hopes fell back, her wide eyes portraying her sadness and pleadings to the Dark Elf.

And still he crushed her harder. The Eyes of Sauron blazed into her heart, doubled with the intensity of a corrupt body. Her eyes fell shut one last time. The final ebb was washing through her. At last, her heart was breaking apart, for she saw Aragorn there, and the love he had poured into her and the love she bore for him, sweeter and stronger than anything else spilled into the faithless waters of Arda. More than anything else, she wished that he could know how she felt, her deepest, powerful regret at finding herself losing everything which had meant so much to her in life.

The drums of the turning tide crashed around her small body. Now everything within hurt, and all movements around her swirled by like an age of Middle-Earth. She could no longer feel anything touching her body; it seemed as if her soul was beginning to disconnect.

In her mind's eye there was a strike of white light; a blinding sharp pain slashed over her rounded stomach and once more pitiable senses returned to her helpless body. Arwen felt the baby inside her flinch as he cowered away from the bloodied knife into the depths of her warm body. Arwen's silent cry filled the drowning night with tears.


	34. Drowning in Despair

Sorry if some of you were confused at what happened last time, but my plot was all planned out from the start so I'm not about to change it now. The end is almost nigh and I'm not going to reveal what happens, but I'm hoping that you're enjoying the story enough to not want it to end immediately...

I hope you all have a Happy Christmas! (And yes I know the story has taken a morbid turn so that message is rather conflictory with the chapter but oh well!)

34. Drowning in Despair

Aragorn was immediately up on his feet, staring out across the river with a bleeding hand raised to his scanning eyes.

"Who is it? And where are they hiding?"

Legolas ran to his side, along with Elladan and Elrohir who nearly flew over the balustrade in their fervour to see. "Look, down there! By the shore." His blue eyes were fixed on something imperceptible to Aragorn.

"I can see no one!" Aragorn replied agitatedly. "Are they about to harm Arwen again?"

"Nay, I see him too," Elrohir commented. "His bow is on the ground and he is standing still."

By now Aragorn's eyes were dry and almost bulging out; he was trying so hard to see and yet still could not.

"Valar above!" Elladan suddenly cried out. "Elrohir, he is wearing her cloak!"

"Goodness…" Elrohir gasped, and Legolas did too.

Finally, Aragorn noticed. Down by the edge of the water, not far from the foaming white rings where Arwen had plunged beneath the surface, a faint glittering could be seen, in the shape of a tall elf. Aragorn's eyes were well used to seeing Arwen in her twilight cloak and recognised it instantly, and yet he felt strangely defensive at seeing it worn by someone else.

"How can this be?" he murmured, astounded.

"One of the Dark Elves must have stolen it when you passed out among them," Elrohir made a supposition to his brother.

Suddenly two black arms sprang out and threw the dimly sparkling cloak to the ground in a flurry of stars. A white face was revealed, with glittering red eyes raised up to the company on the bridge. As a collective cry shook through the group, the Dark Elf took a run and dived straight into the Anduin, vanishing smoothly underneath its grey surface like an eel, shooting rapidly towards the bubbles in the middle of the river.

"He is making for Arwen!" Aragorn gave a strangled moan. He hauled himself up onto the balustrade and prepared to jump into the river far below.

Elrohir lashed out and wrapped a restraining arm around Aragorn's leg. "You cannot jump that distance, Estel!" he advised urgently. "It is risky even for an elf. It is hopeless for us all if you injure yourself too!"

Aragorn looked down, and then pulled his leg out of the elf's grasp before running back the way they had come along the stone rail. The bridge curved back down, and towards the end it would be low enough to be possible to dive into the river. Still Arwen had not appeared. Aragorn's heart thumped in his chest. He was certain she could swim - she could swim faster than him – but being injured and pregnant as she was…

Aragorn glanced down and then behind, holding out his arms to balance. The brethren were closely following him, and Gimli and the remainder of their company were all hurrying after them as well. Legolas was motionless like a lone statue, poised and ready to shoot. Aragorn flicked his eyes back, and with horror saw a black head bobbing in the water, stationary in the centre of the dying ripples where Arwen had been blotted from sight. The Dark Elf was lying in wait.

Turning back, Aragorn sped up and flew down to the end of the bridge, twelve feet or so above the water. He stopped and was about to jump when he heard a splash out on the river. Suddenly Arwen erupted out of the water, gasping and struggling to breathe. Even from this distance Aragorn could see the terror in her round eyes and his heart was torn into agony to see her in such great distress. But swiftly the Dark Elf lunged for her and propelled her down again, so that she could not breathe. Aragorn let out a yell and urgently turned back.

"Legolas, shoot him down!"

"I cannot!" Legolas wailed back, his voice travelling back acutely on the still air. He had an arrow fixed quivering in his bow. "I may miss and hurt Arwen." His blue eyes were dancing anxiously over the waves.

Momentarily, Arwen resurfaced. But the Dark Elf was so close to her that it was too risky even for Legolas to fire an arrow at him. Aragorn took a deep breath and threw himself off the bridge, diving with a splash into the Anduin. Its coldness immediately seared through his bones but Aragorn gritted his teeth and swam up to the surface, his feet just grazing the pebbly river-bottom. As he opened his eyes, he hastily looked around and caught sight of them both, half-submerged, a way out in the middle of the river.

Quite suddenly, the Dark Elf leapt upon Aragorn's Evenstar and with a crushing kiss he pushed the two of them underwater. Aragorn gave a terrible start, and after a few seconds of sickening bubbles, and nothing more, he felt panic infiltrate his curdling blood. Hearing the soft dives of the two elves drop behind him, Aragorn dipped below the surface and swam urgently towards where he had last seen Arwen and the Dark Elf.

It was dark in the water. Night was somehow intensified and made more frightening than in the normal air. The distance was quite far; nonetheless Aragorn was a strong swimmer, and he knew it would not take long.

Slowly the seconds came and went, and Aragorn was sure he had reached the spot, but disconcertingly there was no sign of either elf. Unsure, Aragorn took air and glanced around.

There was nothing else on the top of the river. Gimli was charging down to the shore along with distant shouts from the others, and shadows like great minnows darted beneath the surface, indicating where Elladan and Elrohir were gliding. But Arwen did not appear. There was not even a sign of the wretched Dark Elf.

Aragorn took a massive breath and heaved himself under the surface. Then he somersaulted downwards and pelted straight down to the earth, kicking out with his legs and tearing through the water with his powerful arms. The cold water pealed apart his eyelids and he stared out for anything, any sign of life. The river was deep like an abyss here, and it was hurting his head. But he kept swimming down.

The first he knew of something strange was the colour of the water. It had become a pale browny-red. There were odd currents, too, which biffed his hair and hung onto his feet. Aragorn swerved around, changing course directly into them. Distorted sounds jarred in his ears, and small bubbles began to shoot up through the air like little pearly missiles and they jammed up his nose.

Flaps of grey clothing wheeled into sight, and to Aragorn, as with bated breath he swam slowly closer not wanting to see what was ahead, the image of his nightmares grew out of the darkness. Arwen's face was as white as the Dark Elf's and the two were sealed together so that the distinction between them was lost. Her eyes were shut and her body was still, floating within the cage of the Dark Elf's limbs. He had wrapped himself around her so tightly that the wound he had scraped across her neck was pulsating out blood, soaking the two of them as they bathed in the embrace, lost from the world.

A tremor juddered through Aragorn's body as he realised he must move closer. For half a moment, he had wished that this was all a dream, and that this distortion of reality would become only his nervy conscience. But if he touched them: it would be real. Aragorn let out a whimper.

The cacophony of bubbles growled through the air and the red eyes of the Dark Elf snapped open from their so recent sleep. Aragorn was shaken and he knew he had to act before the Dark Elf. He swam forward and thumped an arm into his neck. The Dark Elf's grasp weakened, but the pressure of the water prevented any strong blow from having been cast. Aragorn jabbed three fingers into his neck again, feeling iciness shoot up into his skin.

Suddenly, before Aragorn had even noticed that the Dark Elf had removed a hand from Arwen, he had whipped out a knife through the water. Aragorn knew the Dark Elf would be weak by now and threw himself against his body to knock the Dark Elf out of Arwen's way and to escape under the path of the knife.

But the Dark Elf had retained his grasp on Arwen's neck. The force with which Aragorn had used to lunge into the Dark Elf now slammed against him head-on. The next he knew was the knife crashing down against his arm. Aragorn's gaze shot over his shoulder and saw Arwen inches behind him. The fear of her being hurt next eliminated his own pain. Aragorn wildly turned back and now saw the Dark Elf throw himself forwards with all the strength he had left. He was aiming at Arwen's chest.

Aragorn did all he could and dived between the two, nudging Arwen up and bumping the Dark Elf off course. He lost hold on either elf and twisted through the water alone, losing all sense of direction.

There was so much blood around, the water was clouded up and felt even more suffocating. Aragorn spun about, trying to work out where Arwen was, and whether the Dark Elf still had a final ounce of hateful life left in him. He swam back into the cloud, feeling the constriction around his chest like a corset as the need for air became imminent.

The limp body of the Dark Elf was falling down to one side, slow and eerie, while Arwen was hovering up to his right, camouflaged in her own blood. Aragorn pulled his arms through the water and swam Arwen into his strong hold. Then with an arm around her and the other pointing straight above his head he kicked out and rose up through the murky water, with every foot gained feeling more painful loss of air.

At last Aragorn burst out of the water and snatched a painful gasp of air. Giddily he looked down at Arwen, tight to his side. Aragorn stared; her mouth was not open and heaving in breaths like he was. She had not changed.

Previously unaware of their presence, Aragorn found Elladan and Elrohir splashing to each side and they began to pull him and Arwen towards the near bank. Still desperate for air, Aragorn swallowed and strained to push away the dizziness and blink away the image of Arwen motionless. The pair were tugged along, each unaware of what was happening around them.

Quite unexpectedly Aragorn found himself on the shore, standing on wobbly legs. Arwen was still hugged to his body, her head lolling onto his shoulder. Half-carried, half-running, Aragorn toppled a few feet over the pebbles onto the stone paving and then buckled. The two elves dropped down beside him, alerting Aragorn with their indrawn breaths to a wound he had not previously known of.

The slash across Arwen's stomach threw a convulsion of nausea straight up Aragorn's shattered body and he flung his head to one side, coughing up salty mouthfuls of river-water. When he looked back, Elladan and Elrohir were pressing cloths over her rounded stomach, weeping freely and copiously. Aragorn crawled forward on his hands and knees and looked down over Arwen's head, his wet hair dripping down onto her cheeks and eyelids.

"Arwen…" he whispered, spluttering a little as he reached out to gently pull down her chin. No water spilled out of her mouth. He knelt down and shakily pressed his lips over hers, fully aware of the last person to have done exactly the same gesture. He breathed out his warm air into her lungs, begging in his mind for her to take over the movement. But when he drew away, and later tried the same again, she was not breathing.

"You cannot have drowned," he murmured and held a hand softly to her face. She was shining white in the moonlight. The drops of water and teardrops were indistinct; both were continual streams over her.

The thudding of feet grew and people shrank to Aragorn's side. "Can you not save her, Estel?" Legolas asked timidly, resting a hand over Arwen's heart.

"I cannot revive her," he croaked, feeling the tears drown his voice in his throat. "Valar forbid it, she has taken too much this night."

The mounting voices all around flooded Aragorn's senses and he was lost in a confusing world where he felt Arwen slipping further away from him. He fearfully took hold of her hand, and hopefully pressed a thumb over her wrist, but nothing stirred from within. Legolas had drawn away, shaking his head in disbelief, and Arwen's brothers were lamenting in their elven tongue. Gimli was muttering forbidden words to himself, while the fence of legs around Arwen tightened and the fear mounted.

After some timeless minutes of stroking back Arwen's wet hair and pressing her neck to find any sign of a pulse, everything fell deathly quiet. Gradually the throng began to pull back and Aragorn looked up blearily to see all heads bowed low. The elves lifted their hoods over their heads in reverence and Aragorn found that he was left alone with Arwen.

"Undómiel, meleth nín," he said softly, feeling that he could speak openly now that they were alone. He began to soothingly caress her body with his eyes as well as his words, as if they would be able to heal her. "I do not want to say _namarië _to you. For… while…" as he spoke he kept looking back at her shut eyes, "your body seems to be drained of life, I still feel you near. I feel you so strongly with my heart that I cannot believe that you will not return. Your path was always laid beside mine. May the Valar pass their grace on from me to you, now, and may you feel their power of life mingled with ours."

Aragorn opened up the tense fist in which his hand had been curled and tenderly laid it lightly upon Arwen's forehead. He bowed his head in prayer, begging with his whole spirit to be able to pass some of his strength and grace of life into Arwen, in such a way as she had been able to save Frodo and other elves in the past. Aragorn knew it was farfetched hope… but when had his hope failed before? When Arwen was concerned, her hope had been so strong that it seemed to be able to steer the course of fate. With her calling him Estel, her hope, would he be able to do the same? Aragorn strained himself, breathing what remained of his power out through his fingertips into her body with the strongest love. Love which was strong enough to be fit for the elf with the strongest heart to walk on Arda.

Aragorn heard a small sigh of wind and his eyelids fluttered open. Arwen was breathing! Shock coursed through Aragorn's mind and for a moment he just gazed on in wonder. Then he felt her turn her head a little under his palm and Aragorn realised that the wind he had thought he had heard was in fact her breaths. He broke out into a broad smile and ran his other hand down her arm to gently take her warm hand in his. Her fingers twitched imperceptibly under his and a surge of joy jumped up within Aragorn's innermost body. He felt like leaping over the moon.

Aragorn threw up his gaze with exuberance and saw Legolas staring back with round eyes, absolutely stunned. At the changed demeanour of the elf, Elladan and Elrohir glanced round from the sombre group, and on seeing their sister revived they erupted in glee and ran to her side, overjoyed.

"Near drowning," Legolas gasped. "It is so rare a phenomenon… I did not occur to me that she could survive after not breathing…" He walked nearer, calling back as he did so. "Gimli, come here." The dwarf turned and fled back, murmuring exclamation in his dwarfish tongue.

"Bless me!" Gimli said. "Well laddie, what are you waiting for?" he scorned Aragorn. "It does not take elvish eyes to see that she needs the attendance of healers. You ought to be moving her at once."

"You are right," Aragorn murmured to himself with a half-smile. "Now she is breathing she should not relapse again. I hope that all will be well."

Faramir ran up, only just discovering the news. "Aragorn – this is wonderful!" he exclaimed with his face shining. "We must make sure she is looked after well though. Let us not go to Minas Tirith; Henneth Annûn is much closer, and I know the company of elves from Legolas' realm are camped in the Field of Cormallen nearby. They will care for her with exquisite skill to match Lord Elrond's."

Elrohir and Elladan were nodding. "Yes," Aragorn agreed. "I would have her treated by her own kin… they will understand an elf's body better and give her the care she would desire. But I do not believe that we should all needlessly retrace our steps."

"We will come," Arwen's brothers said instantly.

"Gimli, will you take the others back to the City?" Aragorn asked. "Legolas and Faramir will also join me, but I entrust to you the task of being diplomatic with the guards, who will be in a state of confusion since I disappeared."

"Certainly," Gimli nodded. "But make sure you come back immediately, Aragorn. Your people want to hear answers from their King."

"Yes…" Aragorn mumbled evasively, his gaze falling to Arwen. He lifted her up and took her over his horse. "But I am so weary, Gimli. I can only promise to be back before nightfall. No earlier, no later." Aragorn mounted his horse and the brothers rode together so that Legolas and Gimli could have a horse each.

"I suppose I shall have to settle for that," Gimli grumbled, dissatisfied. "But you, Legolas," he said pointing at the blonde elf, "you must make him understand that no matter what happens, he belongs with his people – in times of need, just like Arwen requires the care of her people, Aragorn's people need him – and he has a duty to fulfil back in Minas Tirith."

Legolas nodded attentively and met Aragorn's eyes. Aragorn looked away timidly. "Until this evening," he said in farewell. A chorus of goodbyes went up as the two smaller companies parted. Aragorn followed Faramir now and let his gaze drift back to Arwen's peaceful face.

Legolas caught him like this, with a peculiar mixture of relief and anxiety in his expression. "I cannot tell you my delight or amazement," Legolas confessed, stirring his thoughts. "I truly could not see how she would come back to us. But the Valar have been good, and granted much power to you, Aragorn."

Aragorn watched the one he loved so dearly and the sad smile did not quite lift his face. "I had to believe," he replied, bowing his head to hide the tears which leaked out from his crinkled eyes. His voice faded, "for if I did not, I would have died of a broken heart. I only hope now that Arwen's heart is not broken in place of mine."

xxxxxx

Damp dawn was struggling to pull out of the gloom when the ragged company of six came at last to the Field of Cormallen. There the welcoming sight of white pavilions flickering shades of pale grey in the soft wind met their strained eyes like phantoms growing out of the mists. They were greeted by flocks of concerned elves who took them immediately to places of rest while healers were awakened. But they led Aragorn and Arwen away to a smaller separate tent, set apart from the main camp.

After the long night, Aragorn's valour was worn thin, his strength was torn to shreds, and his emotions were in a terrible muddle. All he knew was that Legolas followed him at a tentative distance, his presence both reassuring and yet not permitted.

Inside the tent seemed taller than it had looked from the outside, and not at all claustrophobic. A group of four elves took Arwen and laid her on a bed, which was surrounded by tables with bowls containing red fires. Their crepuscular glow filled the vault with not only golden-red light but much warmth, and reminded Aragorn of being in a lovely warm bed.

While he was teased with that fleeting thought of pleasure Aragorn was coerced into a chair positioned beside Arwen's couch, from where he was able to oversee the elves who were beginning to find Arwen's wounds and bring basins full of bubbly scented water to wash them with. Out of the corner of his eye, Aragorn spotted Legolas conferring with two elves, but he could not hear what his friend was saying… his thoughts were arguing too loudly in his tired head.

When he looked back, Aragorn could not remember much from the tangle of pictures wound up, refocused on, pushed away, ripped up, and lost altogether from his exasperated mind. Though he was sitting, he felt as if he did not even have the strength for that. His heart was flooded with grief of the most rending kind that drained all vigour from his muscles in order to concentrate the angst in his overwrought heart. The pain of what had happened was splitting his head and it blinded his eyes. The guilt of what he thought could have been prevented weighed down his leaden feet and quashed his vain breaths. Aragorn was at the end of a tether, so tense, so strained that now it could not give any more. When an elf offered Aragorn the sleeping potion Legolas had hesitantly ordered, Aragorn could not refuse. He sank with relief into a lost world for a few hours.

Aragorn's first return to consciousness was with the memory of Minas Tirith flashing back to him, and the actuality of his abandonment of his rule over the kingdom honed in on his conscience with a deadly trepidation. The grains of relaxation clawed back from the short time he had spent asleep were swept away in an instant. Like a play being acted out before him, Aragorn could vividly foresee the uproars and the confusion, the frightened people wondering what in Arda had happened to drive their King away. At this, Aragorn bent forward and repented. He repented so much now.

Aragorn peered out of the cage of fingers covering his eyes and stared at Arwen as she was tended to by many healers. Though not blinking burned his eyes and though his eyes burned into her so keenly, nothing would weld what was happening to Arwen into his mind's eye. He could simply not absorb her so longed-for beautiful presence through the worry and frantic thoughts erratically shooting all around his head. Aragorn could not bear to even think of leaving his beloved wife, and could barely blink for fear she would die while he was not looking. Would she be safe still when he was no longer by her side? There was no knowing, when he had always believed that once married their lives would be unthreatened and, most of all, not separated. His Evenstar wavered on the edge, so faint and distant that to lose her from all sight now, forever, would not come to pass unforeseen.

Sobs racked Aragorn's body. He had missed her so much. Arwen's love kept him alive with a purpose, and no matter how much his people adored him, they would never be able to motivate him to live with such sway. But to break away from her again – they had not even spoken words to each other and since she had first looked upon him her eyes had been blinded with tears. It was stretching the boundaries of his mind to understand that he might have to leave her once more. Now.

Legolas softly spoke words of comfort and led Aragorn to stand on his buckling legs. The elf was not cold hearted - he understood Aragorn's burden accurately – but Legolas knew how he must remind Aragorn of his duty to his people. He was the King of Gondor. He was meant to be their leader, he was meant to be there for them in times of need. What kind of a king was he, when he had forsaken them? Now Aragorn needed to make up for it. The less time he spent away, the less trouble he would meet. Furthermore, the news of the cleansing of Minas Morgul would be most welcome indeed, and perhaps even compensate for his desertion. But right now, they had no idea what had happened, and they were lost without him.

Aragorn uplifted a throaty groan to the lit sky and sank onto his knees at Arwen's bedside. He felt as if his insides were in a twist, and then being pulled apart and stretched from one end of Middle-Earth to the other. Which way should he go, when one way his people called, and the other way his love? His heart and his obligation belonged to both. They were supposed to be together, but now they were quite opposite, both extreme, both desperate, both calling to him with dire need.

"Elessar." Aragorn was brought back to the present situation and looked up at a cluster of elves standing around him. He gave a sigh as he brushed his wet cheeks and Legolas helped him stand. "You are known to us, mellon nín," the elves said.

"Hannon le," Aragorn bowed his head gratefully, "But all I ask of you is to guard Arwen's life as you would guard your own." His eyes slid back to Arwen's sleeping face, framed by white sheets. When he turned round, he saw the elves watching him with much anxiety.

"Arwen is well," an elf told him. "Her mind is weary, but her wounds are not severe. She will recover soon, under our care."

Aragorn gave a thankful smile. "And…" he indicated with his eyes towards the mound under the sheets.

"Your child is well too, my lord. You have a son. His arm bears a tiny scratch; that is all. Do not forget that Arwen is an elf. She will recover quickly, and tend to your son well. If you so wish, we will accompany Arwen back to Minas Tirith, when she is able to travel."

"Hannon le," Aragorn said again, so heartfelt that tears caught in his throat and he was forced to look away.

"Aragorn," Legolas muttered, tapping him on the shoulder. Time was pressing on his choice.

Aragorn sighed, knowing his decision was already made for him. He had to go back to Minas Tirith. He owed being permitted to marry Arwen to the White City, which had welcomed him as King and only then was Aragorn worthy in Elrond's eyes. He was indebted to Minas Tirith. He was also obliged to Gimli, and all his other friends and those who had been captives. They were waiting for him, expecting him to arrive and explain to Minas Tirith so that they could be welcomed in peace and given the care and rest that they so required.

So Minas Tirith and his friends needed him, and Aragorn could not refuse. No matter how much it upset him to part from her, Arwen would have to be left behind this time. After fighting so hard to be with her, now everything he had done was thrown to the wind. And would her spirit be? Aragorn could only hope that her spirit would remain, in faith that sometime, not too far away, they would be reunited again in love.

Aragorn staggered backwards, his eyes still remaining on Arwen, with the elves attentively looking on. He could not hold back the tears which welled in his shining eyes, for this sight could, in his mind, be the last he had of her. And if she survived, what would she think of him? Would she understand, or would she doubt his heart? Aragorn dug his teeth into his bottom lip, delighting in the sharp pain and rich taste of blood mingled with salty tears. His face was hot and his heart was pounding as if in warning.

While Aragorn was blinking away the tears, he saw how slowly her eyes fluttered open. Arwen tilted her head to the side and fixated her blue mournful eyes upon his. So intense against the paleness of her complexion, the volume of distress and incomprehension flooded out and encompassed the entire atmosphere around Aragorn. His breaths were suffocated in the warmth of tears, while heart was struck to the ground and his soul shrivelled up with dry guilt.

Aragorn swallowed, leaving his eyes to pour out the greatest apology in the history of Arda. But, ignoring the screaming longing to explain to, to care for, and to love Arwen - the terrible yearning which gnawed every inch of his body from the centre of his aching heart - he tore himself away from her.


	35. Lost and Found

I hope you enjoy the more intimate scenes that are coming up! Thanks so much for your reviews, as always.

35. Lost and Found

Arwen was woken up by the warmth of the sun softly resting its gentle fingers on her eyelids. As she opened her eyes, she found how the white pavilion she was laid in captured the morning's glow like a temple of light, so bright that at first she had to shade her tender sight by blinking her long eyelashes. Lying there swathed in white blankets, she felt as if she was half buried in sand baking gradually under sunlit waters which filled the little expanse above her. For a while she simply rested, feeling the soothing warmth and light, even when her eyes were closed to the world.

A young breeze was toying with the doorway to the small tent, making a repetitive tapping sound, and while there was a cheerful birdsong filling the air, the shadows of small branches were darting above on the white canopy. Arwen was torn between relaxing in this enduring peacefulness and looking outside at the woodland, the trees which she had always loved and reminded her of her elven home long ago. Then she made up her mind.

No one was around. Her slender fingers drew back her coverings and she slid her legs onto the dry grass. The blades reminded her of the sores on the soles of her feet, but they did not twinge when she stood. Slowly she walked across in the pyramid of light, trying to block out the complaints of her limbs. Everywhere aches seemed to be persistently tapping at the memories of her wounds but she did not want to remember why.

Once she stepped outside and saw the sunny fields reaching out far and broad, her heart was uplifted to the heavens. Sprinkled in dew, there were tides of the last crops of the season, glistening and golden in the sun, waving their fruitful pearls, and long grass alike, tipped with pink brushes, all beige and heartening to the sight. They spread out like a carpet of straw up to the roots of towering red-leaved trees, whose leaves glimmered scarlet and then gold as they caught the cool breeze or spun in the air. Arwen's hair lifted back from her face and washed over her tired eyes like a cleansing bath. The proximity to nature moved her far greater than the simple scene would have before all she had gone through, yet, pleasantly, without bringing the frightening moments back to her. Without realising, she had wandered off into the tanned sea, her white dress pulling in her wake, drifting off in a lovely dream which held off reality.

Distantly the elven voice of Legolas carried on the wind to her ears and Arwen paused. She could hear him calling her name worriedly; she knew they would all ask and fret and shake their heads, _why had she not stayed in bed - it was for the best_ they would say, and they would pretend to be angry without scaring her and in fact make themselves more ill than she would make herself by doing this, and bustle around her and talk incessantly and continually check that she was comfortable. But the truth was that by being alone, in the stillness of the woodland, her memories were kept at bay. That face jogged a memory, a certain word would take her back to when someone else had spoken it, and a meaningless glance would be interpreted as so much more. A clashing chorus of discordant memories would overwhelm her mind at a mere conversation and, inside, bring her to her knees, while outside she would remain the same, pale, quietly spoken, gentle. It was alone that she could lose herself and gradually find herself again. Arwen, the elven maiden she used to be.

As the cries grew more frantic and were joined by other voices, Arwen slipped into the trees and walked back round to the side of the pavilion by the trees, watching the figures of people dispersing into the field, like trickles of water, which doubtless would ultimately be inescapable. Casting quick glances around, she melted into the white canopy of the tent and once again returned to the bed which stood there, surrounded by basins and tables with remedial bottles on and bowls of red fire, as well as a few chairs. Now the cries began to lessen as they waned into the distance, and as Arwen gingerly rolled onto her side and curled up, she smiled hazily to herself, unfathomably thankful that she could revisit her dreams, strong enough even to dispel the words of Legolas spoken to her sleeping form. Asleep or not, the bath of nature soaked her wearied mind and revitalised her eyes, and most of all defended her from Arda, cruel and unforgiving as she had found it to be.

xxxxxx

Aragorn sat in a wooden chair by the fire, nibbling the end of his pipe. A piece of creased parchment rested in his hand, squeezed tightly between his thumb and forefingers. Spirals of smoke were suspended thickly in the air, aided by the heat of the log fire. Aragorn gave a cough and sucked a long draught from the pipe, sinking into a cloud of smoke as if his head was the peak of a mountain. Languidly Aragorn blew into the cloud like a mountain breeze to clear the mists and held up the short letter to re-read it.

There was not much point in doing so. He had already read it a dozen times at least and knew what it said and all the words not said between the lines. He had even metaphorically throttled the poor messenger to get every and any word out of him. Aragorn felt a bit guilty now, after sending the humble man straight back to the Field of Cormallen again. It dawned on him that it was for the third time now. The poor messenger must be weary beyond even that journey to Imladris. Then Aragorn realised that the errand-taker had not always been so humble. He did like to announce news rather proudly; perhaps he was not so deserving of Aragorn's guilt in the end. A bit of discipline would soon knock him into shape; or at least knock some sense into him, if not some mud.

Coughing again, Aragorn shook his head and climbed to his feet, finding the air much clearer and easier to not choke on up here. He strode over to the window and threw it open, deeply inhaling on the rush of cold air pouring in. So this was what it was like to be a king without a wife… Aragorn thought it was overrated. True, he could smoke in their bedroom and leave his clothes lying around, but he preferred the small explosions of sweet flowery scents as Arwen stepped into the room and the silky touch of her dresses against his hands.

A sharp knock on the door disturbed Aragorn's thoughts and he quickly hid the pipe and closed the window before walking over to whoever was knocking. On his doorstep Aragorn found Faramir standing.

"Goodness, it's smoky in here!" Faramir spluttered. "It's useless pretending that you have not been smoking. I hope you have not been trying to drown yourself in your thinking, Aragorn." He winked at his friend. Aragorn smiled casually and glanced away, secretly feeling a bit ill from an overdose of smoke.

"It is nearly time to go down to the Fountain," Faramir told him. "The crowds are out there, waiting to hear you. Will you go to them?"

Aragorn sighed heavily, which irritated his throat but he was determined not to cough in front of Faramir. "Yes, of course," he said finally. "Will you accompany me?"

"Certainly," Faramir replied, clearly relieved. He laid a hand on the King's shoulder. "I will be with you all the time, if you need me."

Aragorn bowed his head in thanks, and took the opportunity to give a stifled cough. When he looked up again, Faramir had disappeared. As he looked round in surprise, he saw Faramir opening the window again.

"It would not do for Arwen to return and find your bedchamber in this state," he explained, pushing Aragorn's clothes into a heap and then handing him his royal cloak. "I hear she is recovering well?"

Aragorn knew that his friend was desperate to hear news of Arwen but was afraid of hurting him accidentally. "Thank you for your concern," he said, "she is doing well. The elves inform me that she is much better."

"I hope she will return to us soon," Faramir mused, straightening Aragorn's clothes.

"In the next few days," Aragorn said slowly. Then he changed his tone. "Come, we will be late. I am not that much of a wreck! Surely I am fit to see my people now?"

On seeing Aragorn's smile, Faramir laughed. "Yes, I think you are decent. But if Arwen was here in place of me, I know that you would have not stopped the pruning until you were an hour late." He threw Aragorn a secretive smile before walking out the door. Aragorn ponderously nodded to himself, realising that his friend was right.

Out there, standing in front of hundreds of people, Aragorn found that it was not nearly as hard as he had thought beforehand recounting what had happened. Aragorn was absolutely positive that he did not want to lie, but somehow he managed to skim around the raw truth and emphasise the less important events. The crowd was nowhere near as mistrustful and irate as he had assumed it would be; he decided he must remember to thank Gimli for whatever wondrous pacifying words he must have told the people on returning to Minas Tirith, despite feeling a suspicion that Gimli would find much more ease in fabricating a story around the truth.

Still, it was reassuring having many people nodding and looking on in concern and respect as he informed them of why he had been absent. Aragorn felt sickened at the thought of bringing Arwen into the great muddle, and instead spoke of how he, Legolas and Gimli had realised the connection between the disappearances which led them to Minas Morgul as the culprit. He touched on who the captors were, but was uncomfortable in describing the Dark Elves, for their closeness to Arwen's kin and their unnerving powers still caused a damp chill to creep around his shoulders. Instead Aragorn placed importance on the arrival of the elves from Legolas' realm in Ithilien, and how together they had decided, deeming it an emergency to save others from harm, to immediately attack the Morgul Vale and dispel the Shadow before it spread any further.

The crowd loved this tale. In their minds, Aragorn was both sensible and noble, honourably putting the safety of his people first. No one doubted him, for Aragorn could swear that he was not lying. There were merely intricacies which he had omitted to tell.

Aragorn welcomed their questions, so that he earned their trust once more. They were all easy, apart from one. A citadel guard had asked where the Queen had been while all this was taking place. It hit a nerve and Aragorn cringed inside.

"Ithilien," Faramir said, poking his head over Aragorn's shoulder, and nudging him in the back to get him to speak.

"Arwen has been staying with her kin," Aragorn elaborated. "The timing was not the best, but I think for her to be with her own people, the elves, it has been good… I urge you please not to worry about her. It is not what I want and I am sure she would not want it either."

"But we miss her," somebody said, and then as quick as grassfire people's voices rose up all proclaiming that they wanted Arwen back with them in Minas Tirith. Aragorn was both immensely touched and torn.

As he was looking at the eager, longing faces in the crowd, his eyes suddenly locked on one in particular. His heart gave an almighty beat and his words were cut off. For there in full light was the one face he had been wishing to see with all his heart, and Aragorn was convinced he had imagined her. But for certain, as the seconds passed, from underneath a dark hood, a pair of bright blue eyes was staring up at him, reading his every move.

Everything fell utterly quiet around him. Aragorn's eyes melted and words turned to ash in his mouth, with only poignant breaths passing through his lips. He could not tear his gaze away from Arwen, nor his thoughts. Then, with Faramir urgently elbowing him again, Aragorn felt an upsurge of all the emotions he had kept lying low for days and broke out of Faramir's range, running down the steps and cutting into the flock of people. They pulled to the sides like waves of water sliced by a boat, silent as they watched him flash by. Aragorn lost sight of her among the people, but he knew exactly where she was in his mind, and ran to her as if every second brought him closer to losing her forever.

Suddenly, the last people parted and Arwen was standing there, still, waiting. Aragorn arrived breathless, his eyes pleading with love. He felt as if he was holding his heart in his hands, offering it to her. Walking, now slowly, the last few steps, Aragorn heard the drum of his heart loudly in his ears and found no sound or sign from her that indicated anything to him. Her blue eyes were fixated on his, but her pale face was unreadable against the stark dark blue cloak shrouding the rest of her body. Then Aragorn's eyes traced the curve of Arwen's cloak around her waist, and all of a sudden he could not withstand the torrent of raging emotion anymore.

Aragorn threw himself at her, kissing her passionately and feeling the hot streams of tears streaking down his cheeks. At the touch of her lips, he felt the great bubble of love within him swell to an infinite size and elation dance in his heart. Yet this sweetness was mingled irrevocably with the bitterness of pain and longing and memory. Aragorn's hand caressed Arwen's curved stomach, where beneath her skin he felt his baby stir and move towards him.

Under his arm, Arwen shivered and Aragorn drew back, opening his eyes where grey teardrops hung on his eyelashes. Arwen's eyes flickered ceaselessly over his, conveying in a discrete manner only Aragorn could read that something was wrong. Aragorn found himself chewing his lip, not knowing what to do.

Over his shoulder he could hear Faramir addressing the crowd and taking them away from him and Arwen. Aragorn stared down at the ground, pacing through his mind, unable to remember when he had found himself in a moment such as this.

He raised his eyes back up to Arwen's and saw hers trembling with tears.

"Goheno nín," she whispered breathlessly and cast her head to one side, shutting her eyes in pain. Aragorn watched, frozen, as she pulled her dark hood over her face and hurried away from him, past the Fountain, disappearing as a black shadow into their wintry gardens.

xxxxxx

Between the bushes and trees the grass was frozen with a heavy frost and each blade was encrusted with clusters of white spindles. Yet some of these were bent and the edge of the ice was softer and clear, beginning to melt, despite being in the cold shade. Aragorn's eyes flicked from patch to patch and looked up, noiselessly following the faint trail through the garden.

The light footsteps twisted all around the garden in a labyrinthine path, as if the person leaving them was deep in confused thoughts or trying to lose any hunter. Finally, the trail headed back towards the lawn set behind the citadel and Aragorn, hurrying softly with worried lines creasing his brow, caught sight of a whip of cloth around one of the last great trees. His eyes widened and he sped up in curiosity.

On reaching the end of the trees, he saw the figure cloaked in blue fleeing up the private steps to the royal chamber. Half-afraid, Aragorn paused behind the tree, and saw Arwen turn round to hurriedly check that no one was watching before she slipped through the small door. With a pang, Aragorn realised that she was trying to elude him.

Swallowing, Aragorn broke into a run and charged across the lawn in a few massive steps that would have given Treebeard a run for his money and he leapt up the steps three at a time. His hands were flung onto the handle and he erupted through the door with a loud crack. On the other side of the bedroom, he saw halfway through the door Arwen spin round to see what had made the noise. Her cheeks paled.

Aragorn stood suddenly still, arm half stretched out, almost afraid that any movement would scare her away like a little bird. Holding her fearful eyes, Aragorn very slowly closed the door behind him and tentatively took a few slow steps into the middle of the room. Arwen continued to shrink away from him.

"Wh-" Aragorn stuttered, now letting a heavy frown fall down his brow. Arwen dropped her gaze and Aragorn took the chance to shut the door before she could escape out of it. He gestured to the chair by the fire and on seeing this Arwen cautiously walked over to it, untying her twilight cloak and slipping it off her shoulders. Aragorn took it into his hands and Arwen shivered, moving away from his fingers and into the chair faster. Pain momentarily shot through Aragorn's eyes but he lay the cloak down gently and came to stand by her side with a reasonably composed expression. Arwen looked nervously up at him, wringing her hands.

"What's wrong?" Aragorn asked softly, concern etched into his voice. Arwen avoided his burning gaze by staring down at her hands. Sighing, Aragorn knelt down beside her so that she could not ignore him.

"Did something happen in Minas Morgul, before I came?" he raised an inkling which he had held for some time. While he had hoped that on Arwen's return everything would return to normal, he had felt a restless unease since seeing her behaviour towards him that forsaken night and in his heart he had not expected this to have been completely smoothed over. But this was worse. She was purposefully running away from him.

Almost imperceptibly, Arwen nodded, and exhaled shakily, as if she was struggling to hold in tense emotions.

Aragorn frowned in thought. "What was it?"

Arwen's eyes fell shut. "They said some things… I will never forget," she breathed, only opening her eyes once she had spoken. They flickered nervously over to Aragorn, whose head was tipped to the side as he analysed her and her words.

"What did they say?" Aragorn leant closer to the chair and closed a hand over the arm rest, making Arwen flinch briefly. Aragorn pretended not to notice and instead kept his eyes fixed upon Arwen's.

She shook her head. "I cannot tell you," she murmured. "They will hurt you." She coughed as if the words she had spoken choked her and Aragorn momentarily looked down at his white knuckles.

"I would have you say them, so that I can help you, Arwen," Aragorn advised caringly.

Arwen did not reply, and as the silence grew longer, tears began to spring up in her eyes.

"Don't hide from me," Aragorn whispered, turning his head and earning her gaze. Her eyes danced with fragility over his and then flicked away.

"Please…" Aragorn begged. "Let me help you, Undómiel." As he called her by that elven name, a tremor ran through Arwen's body, as if he had struck a nerve.

"Arwen?" Aragorn moaned. He lifted up his other hand towards her face, and on seeing this Arwen cowered away, blind panic consuming her eyes. Aragorn halted his hand, stunned. Did she truly think he was going to strike her?

"I am not going to hurt you," Aragorn told her softly, but his voice gave signs of his own hurt. He met her eyes and bit by bit brought his hand closer so that he could gently hold it to her cheek. By the time he touched her skin, her chest was rising and falling rapidly. A fire scalded his hand as it was in contact with her cheek, but neither of them moved away.

"Please, help me understand what Shadow has fallen upon you, and I will be able to heal you," he urged her, his eyes pleading. "What lies did they say to you?"

"How do I know which are lies? How would you know?" Arwen suddenly broke out, violent tears gleaming in her eyes. Aragorn jumped back, startled. "When things you believed were good show to be bad, how can you judge? How do I know what to trust? I do not understand anything, and I am drowning in a whirlpool of confusion, with no way out." Her voice became quieter again but pearls of tears formed in the corners of her eyes.

The alarm faded from Aragorn's eyes and was replaced with anxiety, focused solely upon Arwen. "I am sorry," Aragorn told her, unhappy that he had provoked such a reaction. He bowed his head, but when he looked up again, tears were running down Arwen's cheeks fluidly.

"I cannot stay here," Arwen wept, wiping her wet cheeks with her hands. Aragorn offered a white handkerchief, but she didn't seem to see it.

"You are not well," Aragorn tried to say as gently as possible. "If you do not want to be here, you can have a room in the Houses of Healing."

Arwen's body was shaking as she tried to stifle her crying, but Aragorn discerned her nodding. He gave her a weak smile, his eyes pouring out compassion, but her blue eyes pooled with fear did not recognise him anymore, and he did not see the person he used to find there either.

He waited until her sobs had subsided and her raw eyes were dry. Arwen's breathing was still uneven and she looked very pale and weak. Simply living seemed to be a burden to her, weighing heavily on her heart.

"Will you have me accompany you there?" Aragorn asked. She glanced away shyly and whispered, "No."

Aragorn sighed but climbed to his feet. Arwen followed and walked uneasily over to the door. Aragorn picked up her dark cloak and wrapped it around Arwen, but she still looked very cold.

"Do not forget, Arwen," he murmured, as she touched the handle to leave. She looked round, fixing her cavernous eyes on his. "I will come to see you, and you need only say and I will help you, with my whole heart." He opened out his hands, as if holding out to her something invisible but of great importance.

Pain streaked across Arwen's face. "Sorry," she whispered. Then she left without another word.

Aragorn stood there for many minutes, staring at the closed door, feeling everything beginning to crumble around him, and wondering if he had actually lost everything in Minas Morgul.


	36. Fountains of Tears

Thanks to everyone who is reading and please review at the end!

36. Fountains of Tears

The window was thrown wide open, letting the cold air avalanche into the small room and clash with the heat from the crackling fire in the hearth. Faramir had just left, after paying his respects to her and wishing her the quickest recovery, but he had barely touched her thoughts, not even tossing them or turning her mind upside down as Legolas did whenever he visited. Arwen was afraid of when he would visit her again. He knew more than he put into words.

Arwen leant back against the window frame and looked out on the hard frost which coated the herbaceous gardens of the Houses of Healing. Earlier on she had watched someone try to dig up a particular plant, but the ground was completely solid. Now hardly anyone was outside, even on the streets. It was quiet for Minas Tirith. It was as if Arda was reflecting the desolation and despair occurring in Arwen's heart.

The coldness was so bitter that it hurt to breathe in the air from outside, but Arwen felt encaged in this room. She had not left it since she walked in. But she was more afraid of going outside for fear of who she would encounter.

Aragorn had come, everyday, as he had promised. But Arwen could not bring herself to open the door. Far from helping her sift through her troubled thoughts and settling them, his presence so close by plagued her like a violent disease. On hearing the edge of alarm rise in his voice as he realised that she would not see him, Arwen could see it just as clearly as rage, and anger. Would she see Sauron in his eyes, as she did in her nightmares, the curse for not giving up her life for him?

Arwen had sat there, sobbing, on a chair facing the locked door, hearing Aragorn plead and reason with her on the other side of the wood. His notes of panic hurt her deeply, and her own pain was made raw once more. Such agony made her wonder whether she had done something to deserve such punishment. Perhaps she had disgraced herself and offended the Valar, by casting off her precious immortality and marrying a mortal. It could be that the Valar sent the flood to cause the Dark Elves to plague her, and now that they were dead Aragorn had taken over that role. But whether he had done that intentionally or not, Arwen did not know.

Since her entrapment in Minas Morgul, Arwen's memory had been blocked. Now she looked back on everything fearfully, noticing any hint that Aragorn was the character the Dark Elves had believed in. She knew she had loved him truly for many years, but the Dark Elves had laid down a barrier in her way. Now there was only fear and mistrust. Fear that he was seeking to dominate Middle-Earth like another Dark Lord, and doubt that he had tricked her into loving him so that he could satisfy his own selfish fantasies. They seemed so implausible, but in the whirlwind of confusion that was her thoughts, locked inside that room they kept returning.

Arwen pushed herself away from the wall and walked over to the mantelpiece. Underneath a glass phial containing cloudy orange medicine were some small strips of parchment, which Arwen traced her fingertips over and brushed them into the palm of her other hand. She slowly sat down in the chair by the fire, reading each of the messages Aragorn had pushed under the door. Recently he had resigned himself to banishment in the hallway and he had not pleaded much vocally. He wrote to her, she knew, sitting on the floor outside. She heard the scratching of a quill and the sniff from tears catching in his throat.

Arwen jumped, thinking she heard him outside the door, but moments later she realised it was just the sound of parchment grazing over other pieces in her hand. Calming her breaths, Arwen looked down and read in Aragorn's sweeping script:

_Do not forget._

Arwen swallowed guiltily, turning over another leaf.

_It is not too late._

Her pulse was racing as she sifted through the scraps of parchment.

_Your Estel is always there with you._

Arwen lingered on that piece. What did he mean? Did he mean that she should look to hope, or that she should look to him for help, or that he was inextricably bound to her? Would she never escape from him?

Arwen read the last message:

_Arwen, meleth nín, I love you…_

And then at the bottom he signed his name: _Aragorn_. It was simple, but was a perfect portrayal of him just as he was, with the stylish swooping down-stroke of the _A_ and the elegance he had acquired from his elven upbringing. Many times she had seen his name which he had written, most of them in love letters to her. It was his true name, strong and kingly. And there it was, causing her to think about him in that tender way which she had not been able to for such a long time.

Arwen rubbed the edge of the parchment pensively. Right at that moment, she felt how empty she was inside, devoid of the loving care she used to bear for so many things. It was as if she had suddenly stepped out into a blowing gale, and she felt a rush of longing to experience love again, not just a hint, but powerfully, warmly.

What was it that was causing her to die from the inside? Was it as Aragorn kept trying to get through to her, that the Dark Elves had cast Sauron's Shadow over her? Arwen didn't know. She didn't know much anymore. But she did feel as if there was a black weight sitting on her heart, little by little squeezing her life and soul out. Soon there would be nothing left… no love… and no hope… and no Aragorn.

Suddenly, words she had spoken came echoing back to her. She remembered speaking them to a Dark Elf, but now they meant much more when she murmured them to herself.

"If I die, then Estel's love goes with me and all his hope for the future. Without me or an heir, the kingdom of men will fall, and his life will be in vain. He will be defenceless and broken… I know then you will easily kill him."

Arwen closed her eyes and pressed the handful of messages to her lips. All of a sudden she felt like a murderer, and she was terrified. Maybe the Dark Elves were right in one way; though what they said about Aragorn was lies, what they said about her was true. She was worse, far worse. She was totally undeserving of her elven lineage, her beauty, her respect as Queen, her power and her life… She was ruining Aragorn.

So, consumed by this false web of thoughts, she believed that by removing herself from Aragorn, she would protect him.

xxxxxx

"Is everything alright?"

Aragorn looked across the table at Gimli and fingered his wine glass, exhaling noisily.

"Yes," he said bleakly. "I am fine." He casually leant forward to take a sip of wine and promptly choked on it, breaking into a coughing fit.

"That is the worst lie I have ever heard," said Legolas glibly. Through tearful eyes Aragorn looked up at his friend who was piercing him with his blue stare.

"Okay, okay," Aragorn admitted with his hands up in the air. "I have had enough of pretence," he said more quietly.

Legolas pursed his lips anxiously and slid his glance down the table to make sure they would not be overheard. "You may have fooled most people in this city, but you have certainly not fooled me, Aragorn son of Arathorn," he murmured.

Aragorn gave a wince and rubbed his lined face, where all the creases seemed deeper and heavier, especially around his purple-lidded eyes. Now as Legolas examined his friend, Aragorn's eyes looked red around the rims, as if he had been crying.

"What wounds are left inside, when the physical ones have healed?" Legolas muttered.

"Can your elves not help, Legolas?" Gimli asked, turning to the elf. Legolas grimaced and turned towards the dwarf.

"There are some elven healers staying in the Houses of Healing, but they…" he glanced hesitantly at Aragorn before continuing, "they have not helped," he surmised.

"But she is well, and her child?"

"Yes," Aragorn interrupted. "But what happened to her with the Dark Elves has scarred her mind. They have cast the Shadow over her, but I cannot save her from it."

"Why not?" Gimli said incredulously. "You saved Éowyn, and Pippin, when they were overcome by the Shadow."

Aragorn waved a hand casually at Gimli's comment. "They let me," he simply said.

"I'm sorry?" Legolas leant across the table, confusion riddling his eyes.

Aragorn sighed and buried his face in his hands. A small voice trickled out. "She will not let me. The Dark Elves have made her afraid of me, and so she will not let me help her."

Legolas' eyes widened and he recoiled sharply back across the table, shooting a meaningful glance at Gimli. Aragorn continued to knead his eyes with the palms of his hands. Gimli opened his mouth but refrained from speaking, not knowing quite what to say. The atmosphere was tense.

Suddenly Aragorn gave a groan and pushed his chair back, rising abruptly to his feet.

"It doesn't matter anymore; there is nothing I can do… There is nothing to live for now." He spoke loudly in a harsh tone, but as if to himself, without looking at his friends. He turned and strode out of the hall and up the stairs to his bedchamber, still muttering feverishly. Legolas and Gimli stared transfixed where he had disappeared before meeting each other's eyes worriedly.

xxxxxx

Night filtered the room into shades of dark grey and no other colour. Aragorn turned his weary head to watch a dying candle left on the washstand as it guttered and choked, flashing out a few final bursts of light around the room before finally the flame disappeared in a puff of hissing smoke. Everything imploded into complete, cold blackness.

Aragorn sighed shakily and cast his head to the side. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut but the menacing emptiness did not evade him. It was hard to ignore the emptiness in the room, how cold and unfilled the bed was. He was absolutely shattered, so mentally drained that he had lost all colour in his face, but he could not rest. He could not be comfortable. Not without Arwen back.

Aragorn rolled onto his side, stretching out into the blank space where she should be. He reached out with his large arm-span, fingers prying under the blankets, straining to grasp the dream which he so faintly held. But she wasn't there. And that vast gap was expanded infinitely in his heart so much that it hurt. Everything hurt. He was fed up with pretending that everything was normal. How could it be, when he was dying inside? His dreams were shattered before his feet, and all he had believed in the one elf-maiden he loved was reduced to absolutely nothing. The love and future which had before seemed certain now seemed certain not to be true. How could it? He had no faith any longer. It was hopeless.

Aragorn tossed over onto his other side. This was unbearable, feeling himself being torn apart and not being able to stop it. There was a gap eating him up from the inside, consuming all happiness in life which he had. Living in a dying world of broken dreams, he wanted to drown in his sorrow; he wanted to feel the sharp sting of tears on the raw space Arwen had filled in his heart for so many years; he wanted to have the comforting drip of sadness into his heart to blot out the world. Without Arwen, there was nothing for him to live for.

As Aragorn collapsed onto his back his face crumpled. Why was a broken heart so beautiful? In that moment, he loved her so much that it hurt to try to quantify it. She was as stunning as ever, as revered as when they first met, but augmenting all of this allure was her sadness. That made him feel compelled to embrace her and tear her fears away, something which he was now not able to do, and even worse, he was prevented by Arwen herself. That struck to the very core.

Tears were springing into his eyes, both bidden and unbidden. It didn't matter any more, whether he cried or not. It didn't matter if he tried to save Arwen or if he caved in. It made no difference. He could not understand why everything good had to have an end, but now he saw how true it was, and how it could not be stopped. He had been living in a reverie which could never become reality – life could never be as good as he had naively thought it would be. He had been a fool to believe he was not alone in the world. He had always been alone. Utterly empty.

Aragorn found himself crying at his own condemning thoughts. He could not lie to himself: he loved Arwen with all his heart. It was losing her that hurt. He felt vulnerable and open, and he was afraid. There was nothing to resist or protest with. Arwen was hurting him so badly, but he could never, and would never, hurt her back. She hurt from the inside out, but Aragorn would not try to stifle the pain. For the pain was Arwen, and he loved her so completely. She belonged in his heart. He could never lose her, and if her pain was all he ever had, he would willingly keep it and suffer.

All the everyday memories he had of her now seemed to be of the highest significance, and every moment he remembered spending with her was divine. If only they could share each breath as they once had, the moment would be beautiful, and each kiss he imagined beyond hope was paradise, making him perfectly whole.

Tears streamed down the raw lines on his hot stinging cheeks. His facial muscles were painful as he winced, being tired from the continual crying each night. The tears dropped with patters onto the cool saturated pillow.

Without Arwen, he was hollow. Nothing else could save him, only she could make him whole once more. She had been away for far too long already, and the wounds she was making in his heart were now beginning to scar him forever. She needed to come back, and equally he needed her to come back. But how could she?

Aragorn groaned and buried himself under his shaking pillow. For her to be happy, must he forsake his own happiness?

xxxxxx

A rustle of the dry leaves scattered across the road to the Houses of Healing, but the healers on watch at the door did not turn their heads. For in winter it was known for a cold wind to stir through the city before the downpour of rain, and the night was dark with the stampede of cloud pressing down tightly from the mountains. None of the doors to the rooms had opened, and who should suspect an ill patient of climbing out of their window? Clearly they did not know elves well.

Concealed in her twilight cloak, Arwen swept up the streets unseen by anyone. She was only hesitant on the final pass up to the citadel, but away from the lights of houses it was an even more solid darkness. The two Fountain Guards on either side of the court each held a small lamp, but they illuminated nothing. She was invisible to all eyes. Yet though she could escape from them, Arwen could never escape from her emotions. Fear and bewilderment plagued her every second that she breathed, and there was no visible helping hand to pull her out of this consuming whirlpool.

Arwen paused by the edge of the fountain and contemplatively sat down on its low wall. The stone was cold and she looked around cautiously at the guards. With her elven eyes, Arwen saw from their outlines that they stared out of the city and down at the road; they had not noticed her presence. Furthermore, even if she was not hidden by elven magic, she would still not be seen. Not even if Aragorn by some chance looked out from the doors of the High Court would his eyes detect her in the darkness.

Arwen trembled, thinking over what had brought her here. She had begun to understand that the Shadow Aragorn had discerned was taking hold on her. She slowly began to see that Aragorn was not trying to hurt her, and never had been. But she was afraid of what she had thought and what she had done. Her need for him had magnetised her closer to his presence, but fear of herself now prevented her from going any nearer. She yearned to feel him heal her, yet she was unhappy to contaminate him with what beleaguered her. The terrible mix of love and hate for the same things was hard to bear. Arwen chose her own solution.

Upon rising to her feet, Arwen dropped the cloak from her shoulders and carefully climbed onto the rim of the pool. There was a distant hiss, from rain falling on the mountainside, but she could not wait for the rain-cloud to break here. Arwen turned her thoughts to the Fountain, and looked up at the lofty grey stream of continuous water. How far and plentiful the water was, just as her inner grief stretched beyond being able to contain it within. She longed to cry, she longed to express herself openly, but she was afraid of what Aragorn would do if he found out.

She did not need her cloak; the night was a cloak enough. Arwen plied up her skirts into her long fingers and bared a pale foot. Slowly she stepped down and broke through the surface of the water. It was very cold and the shock broke a gasp from her lips. But Arwen held her tongue and resolutely slid the other foot down onto the base of the pool. It was smooth and slippery, but perfectly clean, for it dimly glimmered a grey-blue colour. She felt the cold rings of water climb up her legs and the gnawing ache in her feet, but she stayed where she was.

Arwen lowered her skirts and they ebbed to and fro gently around her knees in the soft current from the fountain. Then she waded slowly towards it, the white foaming water, and felt the tiny patter of spray upon her cheeks. She closed her eyes and outstretched her arms, opening up her palms to the larger droplets and gathered pools in her hands. Waves skipped up her thighs and the night air nipped at her bare skin, but the strong sensations were precisely what Arwen desired: they blocked out her thoughts.

A smile crept up her wearied lips and she strode calmly into the rainfall ahead. The cold water splashed upon her stomach and chest and shoulders, and Arwen quivered involuntarily. But it was not painful, not like the rest of the world she was leaving behind this dream, where all her thoughts and worries waited outside the basin. Within this circle of stone, she was free.

Arwen stole a breath through her clammy lips and stepped into the tumbling shower. Her breaths tumbled out as she gasped from her total enclosure in the cold wet blanket of water, but she remained rooted to the spot.

Gradually the coldness became numbing, and with it so was her mind numbed. She was totally absorbed in the present, all the sensations upon her body, and all thoughts and troubles were repelled from her mind. Sucking in deep rattling breaths, Arwen let all the emotion she had blocked up break out, and as if from behind a dam suddenly all her tears leaked out and she found herself crying inconsolably, arms raised up into the fountain welcomingly.

A sinuous wave passed down through her fluid hair and descended her acutely shivering back before enveloping her entire body. The constant stream of water clamoured pleasantly upon her shoulders and its gentle hands caressed her brow. The coolness bathed her wearied eyes and the drops of water from the fountain stroked the tenseness beneath them. The drops of water wiped her tears away while laying its own there. The fountain's watery embrace anaesthetised the rest of Arwen's exhausted body. She felt completely lost from the world, and found with herself, drowning her sorrow in such beauty.

Now she did not know whether she was crying at all, or whether the whole of Arda was crying with her. But this was what she wanted. In that moment, she was free.

xxxxxx

From the top of the steps, under the cover of the palace battlements, Aragorn looked out into the hazy twilight. Utter sorrow filled his heart, minute after minute, as he watched Arwen weeping to no avail. Out in the cold night just before daybreak, all colours had faded into dull shades of grey behind the film of rain. Aragorn knew his own skin would look grey in daylight, being drained of all blood due to lack of sleep. The white stone paving appeared to be tarnished beneath a stretching blue-grey cloud all above, reflecting how he felt his long life now stretched out before him. Empty and depressing.

Arwen had almost merged into the water now, her pale grey dress soaked to the skin, just the hue of the bark of the White Tree. Her hair was a streaming shadow, like a dark wave overwhelming her. The white skin of her arms was paler than it all, whiter than the hazy moon vainly attempting to shine through the clouds. He could not see her face, but Aragorn could not even bear to imagine it. The weakness that ensued made his bones crumble and his mind fade to dust. But what was worse was the endless patter of water. The fountain's continual tinkling, the falling teardrops pattering into the pool, never ceased - just always weeping. The musicality filled his ears, and the water dappled under his wearied eyes. Before he knew it, Aragorn found himself in tears too.

Why did seeing her so broken have to arouse such beautiful and tender emotions in his heart?

xxxxxx

It was daybreak when Legolas and Gimli found Aragorn sitting on the steps to the High Court in the loose scarlet clothes he had worn in bed, now drenched a dark brown by the slanting rain. They were both surprised to say the least, but not surprised that Aragorn had not been asleep. That was why they had checked his room, to make sure that he was well.

"No, he is not well," Gimli muttered to Legolas, who had just asked the King that question. Legolas scowled at the dwarf and lowered himself down next to Aragorn, who was either purposefully ignoring his friends or so absorbed in his own thoughts that he did not actually realise that they were there. His usually blue-grey eyes were almost black and stared out emptily, with his chin resting in his hand, while his elbow was propped up on his knee.

Legolas' expression softened but a terrible frown settled on his eyebrows. He followed Aragorn's line of sight, but for a long while he could not for the life of him work out what Aragorn was looking at or exactly what he was thinking, and so he could not say anything constructive.

"It is cold and wet, of course he will not be well after sitting out here," Gimli defended himself. Legolas still ignored him.

Then his lips curved into an O-shape. He noticed, her shape almost woven in with the black-and-white colours of the White Tree, Arwen half-hidden by the sheen of water from the Fountain. In the grey light and coated in the foaming water she was not easily seen. But with the sunrise about to come, she would soon be drawing much attention.

"Aragorn…" Legolas shook his friend's arm and jolted him out of his daze. Aragorn turned his eyes towards the elf, somewhat menacingly. Legolas was not put off. "You have to help her out," he told him, "now, before the guards see." He indicated with his eyes towards the guards over by the walls, who were changing shifts. Thankfully, none of them were looking up towards the Fountain or the High Courts. After all, it was not expected that anyone else would be up at this hour, and certainly not outside in the blizzard-like rain.

"I- I can't," Aragorn stuttered, now shaking. Legolas looked at him in concern.

"Yes, you can," he said robustly.

"Legolas and I will go and distract the guards," Gimli proposed, walking down the steps and meeting Legolas' eyes. "You can't just let her freeze to death, Aragorn!"

At that Aragorn's face crumpled with sadness and his eyes melted with concern. Legolas must have realised that his friend had been won over, for he took Aragorn's arm and pulled him carefully to his feet.

"Fetch her and bring her inside. Then I am having words with you, Aragorn." Aragorn turned alarmed eyes to the elf who looked back meaningfully before going to Gimli's side. The pair then walked off towards the guards.

Aragorn sighed and descended the steps, his whole body feeling leaden and lifeless. It dawned on him how relieving it must be to feel the cold water rushing down upon one's body and a great empathy with Arwen grew within him. He walked solemnly across the Court which was more exposed and so he was pelted with icy rain that chilled him to the bone. He caught sight of Arwen's dark cloak to one side of the Fountain, and as he came near he picked it up before analysing what he ought to do.

Gimli and Legolas had each engaged a guard. Aragorn had a window of time in which he had to rescue Arwen before everyone in Minas Tirith got wind of the problems he and Arwen were having. So far, they had covered it up well. Aragorn knew if his people found out, everything in his life would fall to utter ruin.

Aragorn climbed over the wall around the pool and stepped into the water. It was cold and a shudder rippled up through his body. But he gritted his teeth and strode through the pool towards Arwen's image, shimmering like a mirage in the column of water.

He opened his mouth to call her name, but the singing roar of the Fountain would prevent her from hearing his voice, so he did not speak. Instead, Aragorn walked around where the water fell, gradually becoming accustomed to the chill, and came face to face with Arwen.

She looked up at him with blue eyes that seemed like wet pebbles behind the stream of water. The incomprehension was visible on her face; she did not know whether the dream-like image of him was real or in her mind.

Aragorn reached out into the cold water and felt for her hand. At first he did not realise he was touching it, for her flesh was as cold as the fountain, but then he closed his hand around hers. He gently pulled her towards him, out of the water, and all her features sharpened and became clearer as she materialised before him. White spray and grey rain drops flew between them as they stared at each other, but for the first time in a long while they saw each other clearly.

Aragorn briefly closed his eyes and shook his head, trying not to crack in front of Arwen. He sucked back his tears and when he opened his gaze upon her again, he managed to breathe steadily on looking at her deathly white skin and blue lips. Her black hair snaked around her hollow neck and small shoulders and drips ran down her body, seemingly from her eyes. She was completely coated in tears.

Suddenly a loud toll rang out and Aragorn jumped, glancing up at the High Court. The bell was singing out for the first hour of day. Aragorn controlled his panic and turned back to Arwen. He noticed her prominent knuckles on her free hand, as she rested it on her rounded stomach.

Aragorn swallowed and moved his arm around her waist, before guiding her to the edge of the pool and lifting her out. She was as wet as a seal, pressed close to him, and while he had felt cold earlier, he now felt hot-blooded compared to Arwen's cold body locked to his arm. The temperature difference seemed to act as a barrier, preventing him from picking up her thoughts. Her face was frozen, as if she was too cold to think, or too stunned at what was happening to her.

He led her up the steps to the High Court, when her knees gave way and she sagged in his embrace. Instantly Aragorn caught her and lifted her up into both arms, seeing her eyelids shut and her arms limp. As he walked down the Great Hall, he heard two sets of footsteps behind him, and Legolas and Gimli joined his journey up to his bedroom. He put her in a chair next to the fireplace, where Gimli began to light a fire, and Legolas went to fetch hot water for a bath. Aragorn knelt beside Arwen and set about reviving her, but of her own accord she opened shining eyes on him.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice feeble and thin. Gimli looked up in surprise from the stoked fire.

"You fainted," Aragorn answered, smiling gently and stroking her cheek. "It's okay now, you are safe." Arwen's eyelids fell down and her head tipped as it rested weakly against the edge of the chair. Aragorn was sighing heavily when he heard Legolas hurry into the room, carrying two huge jugs of steaming water, with two servants behind him carrying more. Aragorn protectively turned Arwen's chair a little, so that they would not be able to see her.

Aragorn wondered where he was now. With Arwen back here, would it herald the start of the Shadow's departure, or Arwen's? He bit his lip, not sure.

"It's okay now," Gimli said behind his ear, and a heavy hand rested on his shoulder. Gimli repeated what he had said to Arwen. "You are safe."

The servants came out of the bath room and hurried out of the bedchamber, nervously glancing at Aragorn. Aragorn turned his eyes away. The secret was safe from Minas Tirith. But something had to be done. He and Arwen could not live this way forever.


	37. The Awakening

Thanks so much to all my praising reviewers! You mean so much to me! Please keep reading and enjoy the story.

37. The Awakening

Legolas stood in the citadel gardens, his blonde hair faintly catching the afternoon light which filtered through the clouds. There was a cool wind, but he remained there for a long time, staring out across the Fields of Pelennor, leaning on the wall as he pondered Aragorn's troubles. He also deliberated over Arwen, trying to fathom out how to save her from the Shadow of Sauron which the Dark Elves held over her, even in death.

He was as motionless as a statue, so solemn were his thoughts, and also captivating, for he did not pick up her elven footsteps. But he felt Arwen's mind tracing the same thoughts as his long before he found that Arwen had joined him by the walls.

"Arwen!" he exclaimed softly when he felt her presence at his side. But he did not say anything more. Her profile was outlined against the stark bare garden, her long eyelashes opened like the black wings of a butterfly, a hand lightly resting on the roundness of her stomach, the pale blue dress embroidered with elanor flowers pulling against the sensual curves of her body with the cool wind. Legolas wondered that she was not cold, but again held back his tongue. He felt bound in her presence, captivated when she turned to him, her eyes betraying the sorrow there held within, cascading forth like a mournfully overwhelming blue river torrent breaking through its grey defences and spraying silver flecks of torment into the empty air.

He watched as silently she raised a sleeveless arm and stretched out her long fingers to lightly trace his pointed ear. A cool sensation pricked the tip of his ear and a curious tingle washed throughout his body from where the Evenstar of the elves touched him, so light and so gentle that they had barely any contact at all; but the touch of Arwen Undómiel was one of the most powerful of all the elves to walk the lands of Arda, more striking than a crimson sunrise, sweeter than the first bloom of the pale niphredil flowers, more tender than a mother's eyes.

Legolas watched, puzzled, following her eyes as they caressed the mark of his elven kin. Her expression revealed nothing except a deep thought, tentatively springing up from something far inside. At this the elf's own gaze fell to Arwen's ears, still just as defined, delicately resting among her silky dark hair. She still bore all signs of her birth; it was just her soul that was rent from the elven aura which had poured forth like a silver mist from her since her birth hundreds of years before. Even now she was radiant as the moon, her skin pale white and glistening as if with stars. Yet even as Legolas realised this, she withdrew her hand and he met her eyes.

"Heniach," she whispered (you understand). Her eyes, intensely blue, swirled with the colours of a twilight sky and sprinkled with stars, portrayed to him clearer than ever the elf she was – yet even as he thought this, he realised it was indeed in the past tense – for now that her soul bore mortality, did she still remain an elf? How lost she must feel, to truly belong to neither they who were her loving past nor they who were her welcoming future. Legolas lowered his eyes, recalling her touch only moments ago, understanding now the need she had to be with the people she belonged to by blood, the need to remember who she had been, the need to express the poignant sadness she felt now that she was bereft of them.

"Henion." (I understand) Legolas bowed his head. His memory then dropped back to the Dark Elves, from whom Arwen could not escape, in whose blackened memory she drowned. For an unvoiced reason, she had fallen under their spell, bound in the snatching tendrils which crawled from the past, and even though they had departed from Arda for good, she was still held; both with horror, fear and pity.

Pity. Legolas sighed and realised he was swamped with it too. He understood Arwen's grief for them. It was like seeing his own brothers fall into Shadow; how could they choose this horrific path? - But what sadness it was, to abandon all hope, and to never bring back the beautiful pure beings they were. He sympathised with them, as another elf, and Arwen. For Legolas comprehended the power of hope; that had pulled him through the clenches of the War, and it has saved Arwen too. A place where hope was to no avail was one where Legolas was unaccustomed to tread and it was a place which Arwen had never before experienced. In her wisdom of hope, she had for once failed; and he pitied her sorrow.

"Henion," he repeated. Nevertheless, as he watched her eyes flickering, he caught sight of tiny tremors along her pink lips, a tension in her throat, and the gasps of breaths which never satisfied her heart. He realised that there was more. He had known. It was why she had not escaped. It was the reason why the Shadow stayed on, still frightening her, yet simultaneously still captivating her in its terrible sublimity. Legolas had not found out what exactly had happened to Aragorn's wife, but he understood it better than Aragorn, even though neither had discovered any clue from her. Arwen had stayed silent, withholding all truth of that night, but Legolas knew that this silence tore Aragorn into a maddening frustrated frenzy even more than he was in already, unbearably knowing of her distress, sharing the same overbearing weight and fear, without knowing the reason why. He was a healer by nature – a broken soul was more than he could endure, especially in the one he loved so intimately.

"Why do you not tell him what happened?" he pressed Arwen gently. "Aragorn wants to help."

There was a silence. "I know," Arwen breathed in sadness and she glanced down at her hands, wrung together. "But I am afraid."

"Everyday he looks at you, fearing to the point of madness that he will see Sauron in your eyes. I know that is not true; but he needs to know what is. …Arwen?"

"Ai! Why is this world full of so much grief and hopelessness?" she sighed, her eyes raised in vain to the pale blue clouds. Her eyes fell shut for a moment. Then suddenly she spoke, her voice quite different. "Tell me, Legolas, what is it like to hear the gulls?"

"Arwen!" Legolas exclaimed, taken aback. "Surely…?" He could not finish his sentence when he saw the delicate smile on her pink lips and the peace resting on her smooth cheeks.

"How does it feel, to be called home? To hear the elves call you back to them, and to have all fear and strain fall away from your body?"

Legolas looked away, south, to where he had heard the seagulls calling, just as Galadriel had warned him. "Now I have heard them, my heart never rests," he murmured solemnly. "It is an ache that never leaves, a desire that is forever inflamed. To wash that all away, to pass into a dream…" he trailed off, a fine mist forming over his eyes, as if he was picturing his journey into the West.

Arwen slowly blinked her eyes open, and they too were silvery. "Why is there so much sadness here, Legolas?" she asked him.

He slowly turned to her. "Yes, there is sadness, but there is life here, too, and love, and happiness." He paused, trying to comprehend her expression with his piercing sea-blue eyes. "You love him, Arwen, you made the right choice. You would have spent an eternity torn in two, rather than experience moments of utmost joy. Do not regret your decision."

She began to shake and turned to him with tearful eyes. "I am afraid…" she whispered. "I am so afraid…"

Legolas drew closer and put a hand on her arm. She was cold.

"You are not alone," he said quietly. "Aragorn is always by your side, your brothers, and Faramir, and all the elves in Ithilien, your kin, and the people of Gondor, who love you; and Gimli and I, we will stay here, until…" The elf suddenly broke off, realising where his sentence had unwittingly led. He watched in anguish as a tear ran down her white cheek.

"In my dreams, I am haunted by the halls of Mandos… when I close my eyes, it is the overwhelming darkness which consumes me, always chases me, alone…" her voice broke and she closed her eyes tightly. "I really am alone. I stand on the brink; no one can save me now. How to trust…"

"They were not as we all are," Legolas said. He met her eyes and an understanding passed between them; the Dark Elves.

"Our kindred," Arwen's voice trembled as she spoke. "Is there weakness everywhere? Is there no safety even for the eldar children of Ilúvatar?"

Legolas sighed. "We knew some powers are beyond us… Morgoth made the orcs from our own kindred; we saw what could become of those who were once our brothers."

"But I never thought… they still bear resemblance… the blood of the elves still runs in their veins!" Arwen said exasperatedly.

"I know," Legolas said grimly. "I refused to believe its possibility for many years. Yet it has come to pass, and it has proven that not everything is to be trusted."

"Then what is?" Arwen whispered fearfully. Legolas closed his strong hands around Arwen's cold gentle fingers and looked into her round eyes.

"Us," he said. "They were different; we have a strength."

"What strength do we have?" Her words were spoken with such fragility, as if each breath was a great labour having been consumed by boundless despair.

"What strength did you have, when you felt that you were losing the life of the Eldar, and all of Middle-Earth was to be encompassed in horror and sorrow?"

"Hope," Arwen's lips moved with the word, but it was not audible. "I trusted to those I loved, for if any were to give us strength, it would be friends…"

"Love, Arwen," Legolas repeated, softly but surely. "Its power is beyond reckoning in arms or lives. But its valour and grace has saved you – and those you loved – before, and that strength shall not leave you, ever." Arwen gazed at him, her expression full of emotion. "My lady Undómiel," Legolas whispered, "trust to love, for that shall never leave you."

xxxxxx

"I have been searching top to tail through the palace for you Legolas and here I find you! Having invaded the private gardens of none other than the kinswoman of the Lady of the Golden Wood! Have you no manners?" While shaking his tussled head Gimli answered his own question to himself amid some rumbling mutters. The scolded elf could not resist a half-smile but then watched astonished as Gimli's tone changed completely when he looked up at Arwen herself.

"My lady," he bowed and took her hand, full of reverence and respect. But before Legolas could even rely on his hopes, Gimli's admonishments returned in full blast. "You demanding elf! You have been keeping Arwen out here, in the bitter winter, unprotected from its chill wind, in naught much more than her pale skin; and now she is colder than stone under a heavy drift of snow and whiter than it too. How long has she been without warmth? Have you no mercy, not even for your friends?"

Arwen gave a soft laugh, like music of a stream clamouring down a mountainside. "Do not blame your friend, Gimli, for I ventured out here of my own accord."

"But by how much more of a delay did he keep you here?" the dwarf pondered, sceptically raising an eyebrow. His twitching beard did not conceal the smile compelling to break free from Legolas.

"My lady is too kind," he said, "you are indeed right. I ask your forgiveness, Arwen," he apologised, turning to her, "but we shall accompany you back inside, and refrain from revealing this escapade to your healers, and to one in particular. He would chastise you greatly; even more than Gimli here, I deem!"

"And that is a true feat!" laughed the dwarf.

Gimli and Legolas flocked to Arwen's side as they walked back across the garden to the steps leading into the palace. Her back ached from the cold, but as she gave a little groan of complaint she tried to stifle it, to hide it from Legolas; he would only worry more. Instead she quietly rubbed her back. They stepped into the shaft of light falling down from the window, and she saw a tired face pass it by, worn by habitual grief.

xxxxxx

The bed was empty! It was scarred in his memory, petrified him without refrain. He had roamed the whole citadel, searching from high to low, his panicking hands grappling at door handles, his voice trembling with fear as he called out her name. Was she ill – even worse than before? Had more of the Dark Elves returned, somehow, even out of death? Had she surrendered herself to the call of the Shadow…?

His feet scampered back up the steps into their bedchamber, but for some reason, Aragorn could not bring himself to enter, only stare inside through the doorway. He tore at his hair furiously, beating himself. He caught sight of his distraught face in a nearby windowpane and sickened at the sight. It was unbearable to see the Shadow cast over Arwen's face, but impossible to resist it from taking hold on his own when he was so close to her. But not so close that he could hold her in his arms now… if only he had kept watch as he had before sleep had claimed him!

There was a creaking and the small door leading into their gardens opened and Gimli materialised through the archway. Before he could even gasp a question, with his heart flying skywards he snatched the sight of Legolas helping Arwen into the room. He could practically dance, if only the unhappiness had not been carved into her smooth face. Such beauty and such sadness was too cruel a sight. Aragorn's breath rasped through his lips and his legs turned to stone. He could not move.

"I see that your healer has found us," Legolas was remarking.

"Bad luck, Arwen," Gimli growled. "Blame the elf!" he jabbed a finger at his friend. Legolas would eagerly have taken the blame, if only to quench the fear in Arwen's eyes. She shrank to the wall, anxiously toying with the satin covering her tummy. Legolas noticed how she could not move her eyes from Aragorn, and yet when he lifted his weighted eyes up to her, she fearfully snapped them away. Now she was even afraid of her lover…

"Come on." Legolas realised that Gimli had been calling to him and looked down at the hand now pulling his wrist. "Time to get some food."

Legolas was drifting out of the door past his friend when suddenly he reached out.

"Aragorn." Legolas caught his friend's arm and the man turned.

"Not now, Legolas," he replied, shaking the dark hair out of his eyes, and after passing a hand over his brow as if to pull cobwebs away he made to enter the bedchamber where Arwen stood like a grey statue by the window.

The elf's fingers closed tighter over his arm. "I need to talk with you," he said, his sky blue eyes piercing Aragorn's. The King paused, and then nodded. Understanding passed between them.

"But please," his voice fell, "I need to go to her first. I will come and find you, mellon nín."

Legolas finally assented and released Aragorn. As he passed under the stone doorway, Gimli bowed to them both and then the elf and the dwarf left, leaving the King and the Queen in their endless sea of sorrow.

xxxxxx

Aragorn turned away from his friends and as the door closed he looked over to Arwen. His brown crinkled as he saw her timid eyes watching him, as if she had done something bad and was awaiting an onset of reprimands.

"Please, Arwen," he said softly, with his eyebrows raised in concern, "do not think that I will hurt you."

Arwen nervously looked away out of the window and Aragorn paced over to her side, analysing her face.

Eventually she nodded with tears clouding her eyes. "I know," she whispered. "But I have hurt you…" she admitted, so quietly that Aragorn had to consider whether he had in fact imagined her words. Aragorn clenched his fists, the only sign that her words had been a truth and had struck a nerve. Arwen seemed to notice for she began to tremble as she turned to face him.

"I need you," she said slowly lingering on each word, her eyes dancing over his. Aragorn swallowed, trying to dislodge the iciness lodged in his throat. "You tried telling me but… I- I did not see…"

"It was the Shadow… I do not blame you," Aragorn murmured. He dropped his gaze as he spoke and Arwen seemed to take this as a sign of an untruth.

"How can you not? I have not told you anything; I have let myself be wounded and in doing so I have wounded you-"

Her voice was wobbling as Aragorn looked up, his eyes revealing his shock that she did not believe him. "I really do not blame you," he stated again, relaxing his hands and opening them up to her.

"How… why… I…" Arwen stuttered, a frown dropping down her face. Her eyes were filled with quivering tears. Aragorn drew nearer before he gently rested a hand on her cheek and as if casting a spell on her, her eyes fell shut. "You must hate me…" she murmured.

"No…" Aragorn sighed grievously, letting his warm breath play upon her lips and cause her to open her eyes. "I love you."

Arwen's breaths juddered as she held in her tears. The love and concern pouring from Aragorn's eyes overwhelmed her and coerced her into speaking her thoughts openly.

"Please will you help me?" she whimpered, anxiously watching for Aragorn's reaction. At first he blinked rapidly, being stunned that she had finally asked what he had longed to hear, but then he expressed none what he was thinking. Panic began to infiltrate Arwen's blood and her eyes shot over his face erratically. "I don't know what-" she began to weep.

"Of course," Aragorn breathed, in a tone that revealed his surprise that she had not read his answer before. He began to caress her head in both of his hands, stroking from her eyes down her cheekbone to her chin, lightly running a fingertip under her eyes and pressing a thumb over her lips. Tears sprung into her eyes and emotion caught in her veins.

"Hannon le," she wept and folded into his arms. In rapture Aragorn smiled, wrapping Arwen gently to his chest, and felt his own tears slip down his cheeks. He pressed a kiss to her silken head and tightly closed his eyes, willing his warmth to diffuse into her and with it take his love. Aragorn sighed shakily. He was both rejoicing and burning with pain. There was nothing he wanted more than to heal his Evenstar. And so by breaking his own heart, he would be able to mend hers.

xxxxxx

It was before supper, but Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli were already seated in the Great Hall. Servants were busying around, laying the tables with spotless plates and shining glasses, and voices could be heard singing in the kitchens nearby. Yet Aragorn was not in the mood for a feast. He surreptitiously caught one of the butlers and whispered to him that they wanted to be undisturbed for a while; thus no one came near them and they were able to talk in complete confidence.

Aragorn exhaled vociferously and looked to Legolas for a reply. He had just told him that Arwen had at last asked him to heal her. That was a breakthrough he had not even dared to hope would become real; but now it had come, he was unsure of what to do.

Unfortunately, Legolas seemed more intent in asking questions than providing answers. "What do you think you should do, to do as she asks?" the elf demanded and examined him intently.

Aragorn shook his head wearily. "I fear…" He met Legolas' eyes and deep in them, he saw the only option he had noticed earlier in Legolas' glance. "I must take her on a ship, and let her hear the gulls and the song of the sea, and give her the chance to return to your people in Valinor if she so wishes…" he murmured sadly, his brows descending low over his eyes as the pain of losing her forever seemed to become a lot more tangible once it was articulated.

Legolas held up his hand, but the openness in his eyes revealed that what Aragorn had suggested was exactly Legolas' conclusion too. "Before you do anything, Aragorn," he said, "you must tell me how you feel. It will help you to understand what you must do, and it will enable your friends to help you."

Aragorn raised insolent eyes up to Legolas' earnest face. How in the whole of Arda was he meant to explain how he _felt_? In this instance, Gimli's loud snort was suitable.

He felt as if he had lost something truly special, something so unique and with so much meaning that it could never be replaced and life would never be the same without it. The desire he felt to have it back was so strong he would do anything for it. He was dying for it, weeping, begging, exasperated that he could do nothing to attain it though it was all he needed and the only thing he needed. Whatever happened was not in his hands; when once he had been able to fight through anything, with his mind totally fixed on what he was fighting for, now that one thing he had always fought for was itself threatened, and he was left awkward, not knowing what to do.

His heart seemed to be cut out of his body. That was how it felt. As if there was a window inside him, a gap aching to be filled, out of which all his blood and love poured and was utterly wasted and spent. It was a gap in his life too, a space in time which could not be lived through. Something too vital was missing, too meaningful. It was something which now he realised truly, and he knew that he had not appreciated it so much when it had been present. He had forgotten what it was like to be separated from her, when they had been young lovers. But even then, he had not felt the deep love they had shared together once married. And now, the trauma he felt was earth-shattering. It was rending himself apart.

He felt constantly nauseous, food lacked all appeal. To starve seemed to be suitable. Pain seemed to be rewarding. It made sense; what was normally right did not. All he wanted was her back. He wanted that happiness back which had been so perfect. And now it could be lost forever.

His body shook involuntarily and a croak was lurched out of his throat. Hot tears leaked out of his eyes, from where they had continually poured for days, down his cheeks onto the wooden table. He recoiled from everything surrounding him, which crept all around, laughing and mocking him cruelly with its perfect normality, robbing him of her. His face contorted into a cry and he shrank into himself, shuddering while trying to hold his broken body still in front of Legolas and Gimli, feeling his flesh curdle sickeningly under his skin and peel back from his helpless bones. What could they do now? How could he live, without being able to save her, able to save himself, able to save their love? The answer was lost.

"It's alright, Aragorn," Legolas consoled him and rubbed a hand on his shoulder. Aragorn looked up, wondering if he had actually been speaking aloud. Whether he had or not, while he sniffed back his remaining tears, both Legolas and Gimli held full understanding in their eyes. They were wisely blocking him from the view of any servants further down the hall and they gave Aragorn the chance to compose himself.

"Is that the only way?" he muttered, running a hand over his face to try to alleviate the weight he felt that he carried there.

"It is the only way to bring Arwen life and happiness," Legolas said gently. "It will make her realise what course her life should take; whether she should stay with you, or be with the elves."

Aragorn nodded, with his words now unable to be voiced from his seized throat. He realised that the time was up. What he wanted _the most_ was for Arwen to be happy. Not him. If he had to sacrifice his time with her for that to be so, though it hurt badly to try and it would hurt a lot more if it came to pass, he would sacrifice himself. He would do anything for her, because he loved her more than life itself. Whatever her choice, he would love her; forever.


	38. The Ship

Sorry this update took longer, I had two university interviews and mock exams which I had to put first :P This chapter and the next were meant to be one, but it turned out so long that they're now split into two - sorry it's not a satisfying ending at the end of this chapter, but the next update will (honestly!) not take as long as this one took since it's nearly all written already. I think there will only be 2 or 3 chapters left after this one, so the end is in sight!

38. The Ship

It was before dawn when Aragorn, carrying Arwen in his arms, had climbed into the carriage which was now taking them down the road to the coast. Arwen had been sleeping for most of the time, and Aragorn had watched her, spellbound, and tongue-tied when she awoke and asked him again where they were going. She seemed to realise his pain but also that he would not be able to bring himself to tell her what he was doing. It was easier for them both when she was asleep.

Aragorn had also watched the sunrise, magnificent with the expanse of clear skies all around. The dramatic pink flourishes reaching out towards him had faded, but simultaneously the sky had intensified from a pale cream into a deep blue, bright and fierce in colour, just like Arwen's eyes. Aragorn bit his lips sharply. He would miss those.

In time they came to the mouth of the Anduin, to the ancient abandoned havens, where along the golden beaches the afternoon sun twinkled on the sand and gleamed where the water licked the shores wet. Standing there already, on a narrow pontoon stretching into the sea, were Legolas and Gimli. They waited by a grey ship built by elves now living in Ithilien. It was in the traditional manner of the Grey Havens, fashioned like a swan, graceful and smooth, with the clear waters gently lapping at its sides. It bore two white sails and the standard which Arwen herself had made for Aragorn during the War of the Ring. The sight of it made Aragorn's heart pound. The last time he had wielded it, he had been fighting for the same thing as he was now.

When the carriage came to rest and the horses were quiet the sound of the gulls first came to their ears. Arwen had been awake for the last hour or so, and had, as if entranced, gazed out of the window, her eyes searching for Aragorn's destination. Now, as Aragorn helped her out with utmost care watching her every move, her eyes lit up in wonder on beholding the legendary white gulls soaring over their heads towards the sea.

"The gulls," she said softly, following their paths with her eyes. After gazing them she turned to Aragorn, who was at her side analysing her anxiously. A smile broke out on her lips. "Their song is beautiful, Estel!" she said, and a tentative laugh was released from within her. Such beauty and musicality was in that small sound which Aragorn had been denied for so long that he could not resist smiling with her. "Are you not happy?" she asked, as if sensing his deliberation.

"Yes," he professed, looking out to the sea where tiny black dots of distant gulls wheeled and dropped above the glimmering water. He was happy if Arwen was healed. By some miracle, they had hardly arrived on the shore and already she was laughing. Aragorn wondered at the power of the gulls over elves.

"Let us go down to Legolas and Gimli," Aragorn suggested nonchalantly and Arwen smiled absent-mindedly, not flinching like she had done recently as Aragorn slid an arm tentatively around her waist and he momentarily nestled his face in her hair to inhale the sweet flowery scent she always carried about her. It never failed to arouse passionate emotions deep within him, and this was no exception. But this time, his soft gasp was due to his grievous knowledge that it may very well be the last time he inhaled her delicious scent.

Aragorn teased back Arwen's hair from around her neck and looked at the sun's glow on her pale skin, culturing back a healthy tone to her flesh. As they walked together, Aragorn accidentally brushed his nose against her ear, the pointed elven tip, and as always a trickling shiver ran through Arwen's body and a soft brief laugh escaped her lips from the tickle. Aragorn smiled and washed his eyes over the faint pink blush on her cheeks and the way she held her head high to inhale the salty air.

There was a fresh coastal breeze which was cool and whipped their hair, but the day was so glorious that neither of them minded. Aragorn felt freer than he had for as far as he could remember, enjoying the wind whistling past and the sight of the azure sky mirrored in Arwen's upturned eyes, which distracted him from the immovable anchor he felt was tying his soul down to the earth. He preferred winter's days like this to hot summer ones; so beautiful and pure, with the bare black trees like brushes on the barren cliffs, and the bright blue sea tossing and glittering under the bright golden sun, low in the sky and throwing its shafts of light onto the two figures on the pontoon. Aragorn shaded his eyes while he led Arwen down the wooden jetty. Before they reached the end, Legolas hurried forward, with Gimli around his knees.

"How are you feeling, Lady Arwen?" Gimli asked most graciously.

She smiled, using muscles which had been forgotten in worry for weeks. The sight was striking with the full glow of the sun on her face. "Well, thank you, Gimli."

"And you, Legolas?" Aragorn asked, knowing how much Legolas had longed to see the sea and hear the gulls again. The elf sighed reflectively and looked around him.

"My heart was uplifted from the earth at the sight of the ocean," he replied, his voice soft and tender. "And the gulls… their call echoes around my head even when they are silent on an off-chance. It touches me deeply and I cannot help but yearn to follow where they go."

"It is so poignant and beautiful a call," Arwen murmured, watching a white gull flying past, singing out. Their voices travelled distinctly through the cold air, despite the wind. Aragorn watched her worriedly, fretted over whether there was any deeper desire behind her words.

"Look!" Legolas cried, and he pointed towards the shore. Together they turned and saw a cluster of horses next to the carriage, and four figures dashing along the beach and up the pontoon towards them.

"Arwen, my lovely sister!" Elrohir joyfully flung his arms around her.

"Are you alright? You are not cold, are you? Are you any better?" Elladan interrogated her, his eyes vexed.

"Yes," Arwen replied, her eyes flicking over to Aragorn. "Someone decided to bring me here, and the sea air is not just clearing my lungs but also my mind… he knows how to reach out to someone blind."

The elves turned to smile at Aragorn and they appraised him for helping her. But Aragorn was more intent on the thanks shining through Arwen's eyes. He kept trying to search her expression, to wonder what answer was beginning to formulate in her mind now that the sea breeze was blowing the strong-rooted tendrils of the Shadow out of her mind.

"Actually," Aragorn heard Elrohir saying, "we wanted a word with Estel… if you don't mind." Aragorn turned to see Faramir and Éowyn also standing with them.

"Not at all," Arwen smiled, embracing Éowyn warmly. "But Legolas, why were you on here, waiting for us?"

Legolas' eyes slipped across to the boat. "I… we were going to take you for a sail… if you wanted," he said, somewhat ineloquently for his usual character, Aragorn noted, but Arwen seemed not to do so. Her cheek appeared lifted.

"Hannon le," she murmured, bowing her head. Then Éowyn helped her into the boat, with Gimli and Faramir close behind. Aragorn found himself left on the pontoon with Legolas and Arwen's two brothers.

"Aragorn, how well is she really?" Elrohir hissed. "The last time we saw her, Arwen seemed to have lost all faith in Middle-Earth. Have you managed to free her from the Shadow?"

Awkwardly Aragorn swallowed and twisted his hands. "Not until today had I even hoped I could accomplish that," he confessed, looking between the grim eyes. "But I fear the price I might have to pay for healing her."

"What…" Elladan glanced over at the boat, and then a flock of gulls caught his eye. "You don't suppose…?" He realised what Aragorn implied and his stunned eyes brought realisation to Elrohir too.

"No, Estel…" he murmured. "She would not leave…"

Aragorn tore his gaze away from the elves. "This is the only way…" he sighed.

Legolas cut in, backing up his friend. "You did not see her these last few days," he said mournfully. "Nothing Aragorn could do would help her come back to the light; she was afraid of him and caught up in a web of thoughts that could only have been conjured upon her by the Shadow of Sauron."

"This is all the Dark Elves' doing?" Elladan breathed, taken both by awe and fear, turning to watch as Arwen sat down on the side of the boat and talked to Éowyn.

"Ai," Legolas sighed. "Estel and I decided this was the only path of hope left to her. Coming here will show her what she wants."

"Indeed; I think she seems to have already seen it," Elladan murmured, glancing round the little group.

"I did not believe it would come to this," Elrohir sighed heavily and laid a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. Aragorn's eyes were so clouded with cold tears that he could not see it properly. "Though I wish her to stay with you, I would have her be happy, and I thank you for doing something which must be so hard for you, Estel," the elf said to him. Aragorn nodded nobly, pinching the corners of his eyes to stem the flow of tears.

"Come…" he heard Elladan call softly, and the two brothers disappeared onto the boat.

There was silence for a few moments, while Aragorn tried to calm himself and slow the wild drumming of his heart that was threatening to knock him into the waves if he presently tried to climb into the boat.

"Estel?" Legolas called to him gently. He looked up at his friend and exhaled slowly, closing his eyes, his face crumpling hopelessly.

"I know…" Legolas soothed and wrapped an arm around him. "You do not want to lose her."

"I would have lost her for sure if I did not bring her here," Aragorn mumbled, plying himself away from the elf.

"But you still have hope," Legolas said, looking directly into Aragorn's eyes. Feeling rather vulnerable in his current state, Aragorn turned away from Legolas' probing stare and looked down at the bobbing waves.

"No, not much," Aragorn said quietly, his voice sad and utterly honest.

"Estel," Legolas said, kneeling at Aragorn's side to untie the rope holding the boat against the pontoon. "You know more than I do how strong her love is for you. That does not count for nothing."

"You know more than I do how strong the call of the sea is for her," Aragorn shot back bitterly. Legolas held silent. "I have never wanted to curse the Valar, but now I do, for all they seem to want is to take her away from me." He glared up at the sun and its shafts stung his tender eyes.

"Never abandon hope, Estel," Legolas said, guiding Aragorn onto the boat. "For right until the last moment, Arwen never stopped hoping. Its power has brought you together this far through wars of many kinds." Aragorn climbed onto the side of the boat, made of slender planks of grey wood, and saw the light feet of Legolas jump across onto the bottom of the hull. "You _are_ Arwen's hope," Legolas reminded him, whispering in his ear so that no one else would hear. "It is you that is saving her, not the sea."

Aragorn frowned. He was so convinced that he would lose Arwen, after so long believing that he would, that he just could not bring himself to understand Legolas' words. He shook his head and sighed.

"No, mellon nín, I don't believe you. Not this time." Passing a hand over his darkened eyes Aragorn left Legolas and wandered over to where the others were clustered in the middle of the boat.

xxxxxx

The wind washed over Arwen's face and streamed through her long hair, rippling it out behind her like the standard bearing the white tree. Her white fingers gripped the side of the boat, with the sea-spray flying onto her face and hands. The sound of the waves rushing by was beginning to merge into a tune, like a song lost far away in a distant memory. No words were distinct, but she realised it was an elven lay, similar to one she had heard her mother centuries ago in Lothlórien. Arwen smiled subconsciously as she let herself slip further into the elves' melody and further into the dream-like world the sea possessed.

Suddenly something cold touched her hand, other than sea-water. Arwen hazily opened her eyes and turned to see Aragorn standing there looking at her worriedly. Immediately the song of the elves vanished, but it took Arwen a little longer to dispel the dreaminess swimming in her head. She tried to compose a sentence, but Aragorn spoke first.

"Are you alright? You don't look well…" He surveyed her distant face and turned over her hand to feel her pulse.

"You doubt yourself too much," Arwen said softly, smiling and relieving her hand from Aragorn's grasp. "I am just waking up - I was listening to the voices of the elves before you came."

Aragorn frowned suspiciously. "Your brothers and Legolas?"

Arwen shook her head. "The elves who are calling from Valinor. Their song echoes through the water and their words are spoken in the wind. They know elves are sailing off the shore of Middle-Earth and they want to bring them home."

"I cannot hear them," Aragorn said brusquely and despite his plan he tried to detract her away from the matter of leaving Middle-Earth. He opened his mouth to say something but Arwen noticed his concealing behaviour.

"Are _you_ alright, Estel?" Arwen asked, stepping down and touching a hand to his cheek. Aragorn glanced up, almost fearfully.

"Yes, of course. We came here for you," he said simply and averted his gaze. Arwen pressed her lips together. Then Aragorn looked up at her directly.

"Have I really healed you?" he asked, doubt clouding his eyes.

Arwen tipped her head to the side pensively. "You are healing me," she replied. She took a deep breath. "But are you sure that you do not need this moment more than me?"

Aragorn's eyes widened. "What do you mean?" he said defensively.

Arwen looked down at the rail and ran her fingers back and forth along the smooth side of the boat. "Just that… you have wounds to be healed, too," she admitted quietly.

"I am fine," he stated.

"But are you?" Arwen looked up and penetrated him keenly. "After all that I have put you through, do you have no pain, no scars left behind?"

Aragorn put up a barrier over his eyes. "That was not the reason we came here, Arwen," he said evasively.

Leaving the side of the boat Arwen drew closer and pressed on. "Are you saying that when I refused to listen to you, to be with you, I did not hurt you? What about when I was dying and falling further and further away from you, did I not break your heart? I cannot believe that I did this, but… it was the only way I thought of to allay the grief I carried, but by drowning my sorrow in the fountain, I could have killed both myself and our child! Do you not care?!"

Tears of hate for herself and frustration pricked Arwen's eyes as her voice grew more and more out of hand. She looked exasperatedly between Aragorn's two eyes, willing him to acknowledge somewhere, somehow, how sinful she had been, how cruel and stupid, and unworthy of his love. She was angered not to see such a response lingering in his eyes.

"It was not your fault," he murmured kindly.

"I hurt you knowing what I was doing!" Arwen exclaimed. "I knew how it would affect you, the one I loved so much, and yet I spurned you with all my effort. I _chose_ to do so."

"You had no other choice," Aragorn corrected her. "It was not you, but the Shadow which had taken over you. I understand what you did. I do not blame you."

Arwen stared at him, stunned and momentarily lost for words. "But – what would you have done if both I and our child had died? If you had lost me; forever? That is an unforgivable crime."

A grimace flashed over his face and aggrieved Aragorn turned away. "I don't know." The wind blew his words away so strongly that Arwen was not sure if she had imagined his reply, so faint. Without showing his face, he tapped his fingers repetitively on the side of the boat, as if he felt compelled to do something and compensate for his lack of words. Arwen noticed the cold edge to his shoulder and tension in his back, in a way that hid himself from her protectively… as if he was hiding something. What was it she had said that meant more now than it had done before?

"I don't know," he said again. This time Arwen detected a crack of pain in his voice. He seemed to realise, too; he snapped his hand back to his body and hurried away from her. In alarm Arwen ran after him and caught his hand.

"Please," she begged, turning him round slowly. In great reluctance Aragorn lifted his eyes up to her. His cheeks were wet from tears. Guilt splayed out from Arwen's core and strangled every part of her being. She was cruel; everything she seemed to do was cruelty to him. "Do not leave me," she said pleadingly. "Not when I want to be with you."

"Do not tease me," Aragorn muttered, but he allowed her to lead him back to the front of the boat. In her thoughts Arwen pondered what he meant, but she had no idea.

"I hate myself," Arwen murmured, and all of a sudden she sagged to the floor under the tremendous weight of regret and pulled Aragorn down with her. As she brought up her knees to her stomach and folded in on herself, Aragorn squeezed her hand and watched her anxiously. A small voice diffused out from under her arm. "I cannot believe what I have done to you. I have been so selfish and cruel."

"No, you are not," Aragorn reassured her, running his thumb over the back of her hand. "I cannot believe how you doubt yourself. You so brave, facing the Shadow and turning away from it, and coming here, so dangerous…" Aragorn's voice trailed off, and Arwen peeked out at him, staring up contemplatively at a gull flying overhead.

"How can you still love me after all that I have done? After all I am? After what I could have done… what could be…?"

As Aragorn's eyes flicked back to her, Arwen hid her face again in darkness. She could not bear to meet his gaze. It was so undeserving, so unrightfully kind, so trusting… _too_ trusting. She could no longer trust herself.

"Nothing has changed, Arwen," he whispered. "I still love you. I will forever."

"You should not," Arwen sighed and she looked up at him forlornly.

Aragorn frowned. "That is a matter of an age-long debate," he said, tucking a lock of hair fondly behind her ear, and smiling as he did so. "But the fact does not change. I will still love you forever. _Whatever_ happens."

xxxxxx

Gimli was puffing and blowing as he wound in the sail, so much that it distracted Aragorn and saved him a few moments from his thoughts. The wind was pleasant, less gusty out here on the water, and quieter. The waves were clamouring past musically, and if they had not been sailing south-west, away from the shore with the wind right behind them, he would have been able to truly see their speed. As it was though, the land was not moving, and it was just in his mind that Aragorn could see how quickly time was running out. How quickly _that forsaken moment_ was coming.

Aragorn shuddered.

"…the smell is simply delicious, don't you think?" Elladan was intent on convincing Faramir with vigorous gestures to the fans of spray showering over the boat. The Steward looked uneasy but afraid to admit his demur. Elrohir began to explain more rationally about the saltiness of the air and its power over elves. Aragorn shook his head and sighed, shimmying away from the shooting range of the waves.

"Are you alright?" Legolas stood above him, looking down with a rebuttal forming on his lips. Aragorn knew he should not be left alone with his thoughts. There was nothing he could change now…

"Just the cold," Aragorn muttered, getting up to rescue Faramir, who was eying the brothers with a faint suspicion of madness in his glance. He pushed past his elf friend, not wanting to talk.

"Oh, hello there, Aragorn," Elladan called to him. "We were just talking about the call of the sea… You understand what it is like, do you not?"

"Yes," Aragorn murmured edgily, sitting down between Faramir and Elrohir to avoid Legolas' attention. "Though I cannot help but wonder, if the sea is so potent, why did you both come?"

That struck down the jovial air. Faramir's moment of relief, to escape from the discussion of the unnerving symptoms of a mentally sea-sick elf, flipped back to unease in an instant.

"We thought we may not have the chance to say farewell to our sister if we did not come now," Elrohir said softly. "If she decided to sail…" He trailed off, the sorrow consuming his words.

"I did not mean to cause you pain," Aragorn apologised, bowing his head. "I admit, I did not think of what this might do to you."

"Do not feel guilty," Elladan refuted Aragorn's qualms. "I understand. You only thought of what was best for Arwen, and I honour you for that. You put her before yourself. That is a hard feat, especially for a mortal."

"But surely it cannot be easy to shirk off the call of the sea?" Faramir protested timidly. After all, the elves had just been detailing the plethora of tributes which the sea held for them.

"No, it is not," Elladan said sadly. "All it needs is to hear the call of a gull, once." He nodded to Legolas, who was following his words with a grim resignation in his eyes. "Then your heart never rests. It is like a drug – one waft of divinity, and then you crave for the true taste. It is impossible to ignore the shower of song which falls around your ears, totally encompassing you, like hands trying to pull you home, pleading like the aching embrace of a mother. The very wind pushes you closer to those white shores which are painted out before your blinded eyes; the spray is just a teaser of the rain-curtain to come. Your bones ache from within, bowing under the weight of this world, willing you – no, begging you – to resign and pass away to the land of everlasting beauty and healing… The kingdom of the elves… Home…"

Elladan's vision faded away or grew too vivid; either way, his words became mislaid. Aragorn squirmed, now rebuking himself for choosing such an unwise seat, squashed tightly between Elrohir and Faramir. Sweat was trickling down his brow, icy with the wind blowing relentlessly on his pallid skin, and he shivered feverishly. He felt wholly penitent now, seeing the view of Arwen's life – how it could have been, how it should have been – carefully constructed before his eyes, then strewn apart by his raging heart.

"But… surely you can ignore it?" Aragorn proposed weakly.

Beside him Elrohir sighed heavily. "It will take all our strength to resist now. Years may cloud the memory, but still, in the torrent of the heart, we know where we shall truly rest."

"I don't think I shall be able to refuse, Aragorn." A small, apologetic voice reached down to Aragorn's ears and he looked up to see Legolas' abashed face. "Not now. It is too strong. I can wait – but not forever." He held Aragorn's eyes, knowing the translation that was going on inside Aragorn's head. "I am sorry," he whispered.

"Yes; right…" Aragorn coughed, feeling the raw scratching of saltiness in the back of his throat. It was what he had known all along, deep down in his heart. He had just made himself believe that there was another way; that this could be a way to save, not to lose. What a mistake. Also, at the moment, Arwen was weak. Even if the call of the sea could be resisted, it would take much strength. Strength which even Legolas, an elven prince and warrior, confessed to not possess.

"Look, Aragorn," Faramir patted him on the shoulder and gave him a comforting smile. "We are here with you all the way. You are not the baddie who deserves the rotten end of fate. We will do our best to help you, too."

Aragorn smiled weakly at the honest and reassuring faces which met his eyes all around. "Thanks," he muttered. "But it does feel like the finger of fate is pointing at me right now."

To his surprise, suddenly Gimli broke into a guffawing laugh. "You talk like that's a bad thing, lad!" His eyes crinkled eyes opened up for a minute, revealing a bright light in those dark beads. "Has it not occurred to you that fate is pointing at you for a reason? To show somebody else where to go?"

Aragorn thought about that for a moment, quite dumbfounded. By chance he glimpsed Legolas with a crooked smile on his face. Aragorn was not quite so sure about the truth in Gimli's witticism. Life didn't seem so humorous after the last few weeks. Unless it was dark humour. He had borne enough of that to last eternity in the Halls of Mandos.

Aragorn pushed himself up from the seat. "Perhaps I will go and see…" He made towards the side of the boat, to find Arwen.

"She's at the front, with Éowyn," Faramir said softly. Aragorn paused.

"Perhaps I will wait," Aragorn changed his mind.

"Good idea," Faramir approved. "I know we voice our disapproval frequently, but when women talk together it does seem to work miracles."

A soft chorus of laughter filtered through the air around Aragorn's ears and mingled pleasantly with the whispers of the waves and flutters of the sails.

"A miracle," he agreed, smiling wistfully. Yes, one needed to come soon.


	39. Sunset on One Future, Sunrise on Another

So maybe this update was not as prompt as I'd wished for, but nevertheless I hope you enjoy reading it!

39. Sunset on One Future, Sunrise on Another

The footfalls of Éowyn pattered in the same rhythm as the drops of sea spray on the wooden planks of the boat, but their lower melody perceptively danced through to Arwen's elven ears. She turned to watch her friend's approach, a gust of wind whirling Éowyn's long golden hair around her slender neck and flushing her cheeks a faint pink hue which stood out against her usual pallor.

"I'm so glad you came," Arwen welcomed the shield-maiden of Rohan and appraised her with sincere eyes. "You could not fathom how much I have longed to speak with you."

"I was so worried about you," Éowyn confessed, her brown eyes reflecting that fearfulness. "When I knew something had happened, I knew how important it would be to talk to someone… else." Arwen inclined her head an infinitesimally small amount, surprised at how perceptive Éowyn was for a mortal.

"It helps to talk," Éowyn clarified, trying to persuade Arwen to do just so. "Just as you write down words from your mind, they take on a new significance, as you speak about what troubles are on your mind, they rearrange themselves into a meaningful pattern. I am so sorry I did not see you before now. If I had known how bad…"

A pang of guilt erupted from Arwen's heart as she saw the regret in Éowyn's eyes. She shook her head heedlessly and smiled, but Éowyn remained unchanged.

"I am sorry, I tried," Éowyn apologised again, her eyebrows pulling down in a sign of distress. "I stayed in Minas Tirith all the time you were-"

Arwen suddenly found that Éowyn's eyes had flicked up to stare at hers. Arwen's breath caught in her throat and she threw her glance away with her pulse racing.

"When you were ill, I tried to come," Éowyn continued more cautiously. "All the time, constantly, but… Aragorn would not let me in to see you – he was so afraid… he thought I would give in to whatever you wanted, whether he agreed or not. He was probably right… but I would want you to do something that made you happy, irrespective of anything else…" Éowyn looked at Arwen anxiously to check that she had done the right thing.

Arwen smiled reassuringly and squeezed her hand in thanks. "I understand," she reassured her softly. "But he was doing what was right for him."

"Sometimes people can be blinded by love," Éowyn warned. Arwen met her intense eyes.

"But what else can you follow, if love is all you have left?" she murmured, a strain of mournfulness etching into her words. Éowyn smiled sadly.

"No, in that case love can only be the right path for you," she resigned quietly.

Arwen turned first one way to look at the cliffs way across the widening blue straits, to where the waves crashed white against the rocks, and then the other way to look at the distant glimmering horizon, lined with a golden firebrand. Distraught she felt caught between the two, racing ever further from the shore behind, but never getting closer to the other shore which resided only in her imagination, never having seen it in her memory, nor having it planned for her future… Which way to go now, when she was drowning in the middle?

"What if dichotomous love has laid down two paths in opposite directions?" Arwen murmured. "It is all I can follow, but I am at a loss." The sharp wind stung her eyes and Arwen blinked back resiliently. "I do not know what is right anymore. I cannot understand anyone or anything."

A hand soothingly travelled down her arm and Arwen found herself being led away from the edge of the boat by Éowyn. "All you need to understand is yourself," Éowyn said, sitting down next to her in front of the foremost mast. Arwen looked up at the liquid clouds swirling around the residing globe of fire in the sky as she listened. "Once you understand yourself, the right decision will be made for you and everything else will fall into place. We are all here to support you, whatever road that is you choose to follow."

_Whatever road_. Arwen's eyebrows crinkled up, a niggling notion clambering out of the corner of her mind. "Would Aragorn though?" she sighed in dejection.

"He brought you here!" Éowyn reminded her. "All he wants is what is best for you… as do we all."

"And he thought this was best?" Arwen wondered aloud. Did he _really_ think she should be rejoined with her kin in Valinor? The thought shocked her like a thunderclap.

"Of course," Éowyn said, albeit less passionately. "He would only do the very best for you which he could." Arwen peered to the side, letting locks of her hair curl around her face and conceal her eyes. It seemed that Aragorn would brave her loss… but could she endure the chasm of separation for eternity, across the endless seas? Was that how much he cared for her?

"You are not alone," Éowyn said, nudging her tentatively. Arwen turned back and wiped the hair out of her eyes. Éowyn was looking on in concern. "But I know how it so easily can feel like you are an island stranded out of sight from any mainland. It is hard for a woman…" Éowyn sighed heavily and her pale face clouded over as she stared down at her fingers pressed onto her knees. It suddenly occurred to Arwen how similar they were, moments before Éowyn spoke, her voice emptier.

"It was years ago when I lost both of my parents – I suppose you have born the loss of your mother for a similar portion of your life… it is very difficult feeling so abandoned. Then, just as Théoden welcomed me close to him as a daughter, just as I felt like I had a father returned to me, I lost him too. Now he stands on a far-off heavenly shore, waiting for me to join him, just like your father. But he would not wish you to discard what joy you have at such an untimely moment. They will wait until the time is right, and then we will spend forever with them. For now, yes we have left our homelands and we live in a foreign place with no blood family with us, but our brothers are still here and visit us when we are in need. They will never let you down. And then we have our loving husbands, and dear friends."

Éowyn looked up and met Arwen's eyes. They simultaneously smiled warmly and a light laugh slipped through Arwen's lips. On looking at the horizon, Éowyn continued. "But sometimes, it is unquestionably true, we feel so lonely, as if nothing has meaning, no one can be trusted, and no good exists in Middle-Earth around us. And then – you realise – it all falls back to love. No matter what happens, you must trust that if nothing else, for that is one thing which will _always_ be with you."

Éowyn sighed heavily and her golden waves of hair slipped over her shoulders and framed her gaunt face, but Arwen reached out to enclose Éowyn's cold hand in her warm fingers. "Through love, those we have lost live on in our hearts. You are right that death is not the end, but the start of a new journey… like sailing to Valinor," she added in a lower voice. "One that we will all make, in the end."

Her downcast expression filtered away into a relieved smile. "You see!" Éowyn exulted, her cheerful voice ringing out, "You do not have to choose between the two. In life and death, you will have both."

Arwen looked up, and noticed how, with the sun fleeing towards the west, they sky had split into a subtle rainbow, with a pink-red lining hovering just above the sea, which rose up through a warm milky yellow and pale green into the lightening blue which had coloured the rich sky all day. All were such delightful colours, at any point only one, but together they were stunning. Once she saw this kaleidoscope, Arwen understood: by making her decision, no hopes she had would be lost, but one colour of her life had flashed by, and now the current colour was merging quickly into the next, and together in death the whole rainbow would be brought together, to live, forever, before her eyes.

Laughing with abandon Arwen fell into her friend's open embrace and hugged her tightly.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice mingling with those of the gulls which soared down over their heads and circled the mast heads of the boat. As Arwen pressed her face into Éowyn's sweet-smelling hair, she felt tiny wet jewels of tears in the corners of her eyes. She arched back and lightly brushed them away, still smiling. She felt as free as the gulls flying effortlessly above, and this must have been clear in her face since Éowyn too was laughing.

"And how is your baby?" she asked, her white hand brushing Arwen's stomach as she pulled back from their embrace, and at that small contact Arwen felt the precious life responding within. "He is well?" Éowyn pressed eagerly.

"Yes!" Arwen could not resist expressing her most beaming smile. "There was only the tiniest graze on his arm from the wound. We both healed quickly… he is strong. Like his Ada."

"Like his _mother_," Éowyn raised her eyebrows pointedly, which made Arwen unable to stifle a giggle. "I am so envious," Éowyn confessed. "You look like the proud cat that got the cream. You will have such a wonderful son and he will make you both so happy."

"I am already happy. He gives everything significance. When I feel him, suddenly everything makes sense." Arwen looked into Éowyn's brightly excited eyes. "Thank you, for all you have said and made me see," she said candidly. Arwen could not remember a time when she had benefited so greatly from such a good friend. Her eyes fell shut peacefully, and as she did, she immediately became absorbed in the sounds and sensations which rained down from the atmosphere delicately but intently in many facets.

She was barely aware as Éowyn touched her hand and bid her farewell before leaving. In a glorious uprising a fluid melody was singing out from the waves so close by and within her, the baby was stirring too. Arwen knew the fateful moment of her future was rapidly advancing, but for a few pleasant moments she would settle in this clandestine world, shared with the little baby inside her who was the quintessence of her life, for he epitomised her love… the mingling of elven blood with him whom she had loved the most in her long lifetime walking Arda: Aragorn.

xxxxxx

After propelling his unwilling body up from the seat Aragorn walked glumly past the great white sails, the soaring wings of the boat. Here, looking up and realising the speed they were flying at over the glistening water, he paused and looked back pensively. With his own eyes he saw the effect of the sea's calling on the elves: Legolas, leaning back against the railing at the stern of the boat, wore a blissful smile on his upturned face and his blonde hair was blowing behind him like a river of gold, his expression utterly calm and content as if a long desired wish was being gloriously fulfilled; Elladan was reclining on the seat, his lips parted as if in silent laughter and every so often they shaped soundless words which lit up his entire being; Elrohir was the only elf who did not seem to be hanging easefully on every note of the elven tune on the sea, with a heavy-set line of concentration depressing his brow and such an intense frown seizing his lined face that he could almost appear human. He sat rigid as a statue, with his hands clenched tightly as a vice, and evidently his resolve to ignore the call of the sea was furiously difficult to carry out.

This was only to be expected, Aragorn supposed, but he had never seen the elves become so weak, he had never believed that such valiant people could have a vulnerable strain in their nature. Gimli was clearly not so impressed, while he rested his shoulder against the mast and watched the scene with raised eyebrows and a bored line taut through his beard. Faramir had been lumbered with actually sailing the boat, which he did not seem to mind as much as the peculiar appearance of the elves. While taking the wheel undaunted, his eyes flickered suspiciously back to the three enraptured elves as if some disease had climbed up out of the sea and was crawling its way across the boat towards him.

Faramir's dreadful picture of the song was faulty, Aragorn was convinced of that; but if given the chance he did not know if he would want to fall helpless at its voice either. Its allure was famed in the response it evoked out of the yearning elves, being both divine, tunes sweet as the honey of the first summer flowers, and yet perilously dangerous, stepping into a trap so perfectly balanced that the stroke of one hair would make the silver jaws snap tightly shut in a sheath around the heart faster than a tiger's pounce. The choice to risk everything could not be gone back on now. This time, it was Arwen's heart on the line, waiting to be plucked off by the towering waves from the West, and it would be him, Aragorn, left behind standing on the sea-shore, alone suffering the aching emptiness in the cold evening of his life. He would be the jigsaw with the one crucial centre piece missing. He would forever openly wear a window into his soul, where nothing would be left to see.

Aragorn saw this abyss of a life crack open ahead of his feet and he was paralysed at the edge, unable to stretch out a hand to steady himself for fear the darkness would jolt forward in a gleeful hurry to swallow him up. His mind was swimming around tumultuously as if he had already tumbled headlong into the sea and the waves were crashing down on him to restrain his flailing arms from reaching out for one last embrace with his Evenstar they were carrying away on their crests…

"Estel."

A sturdy, comforting arm wrapped securely around him and the voice of Elladan uprooted him instantly out of the dark dream, the dream from where he rushed up out of the depths of the sea. Aragorn pinched his eyes tight and averted his head from the reassuring elf. He had never felt sea-sick before, but now the condition held a novel meaning. He was sick _at _the sea. Sick for what it could do, what it would do, what it was going to do willingly and unstoppably.

A flask of water was placed in his hands and Aragorn drank the cold water without thinking or feeling its numbness drop down his throat. He thanked Elrohir with lachrymose eyes which could not dispel their despair.

"We will not make you go alone," Legolas said softly at his side, nodding to Gimli and Faramir. "But the tryst has arrived."

Aragorn nodded solemnly and walked onwards, touched by the presence of his friends who strove to allay the truncation of his life. His eyes were drawn forward, into the blinding light of the low sun, and his feet lethargically followed. A few steps behind him his friends wordlessly shadowed him. Aragorn squinted and shaded his eyes, some of his hair twisting and flickering over his fingers. As he lowered his hand the brilliant white light of the sun dimmed, and there at the very bow of the boat the dull auburn silhouette of Arwen flickered in the wind, and tinged with gold light were the stray locks of hair and the edge of her skin and the outline of her dress.

"Undómiel…" Aragorn said under his breath, gazing in wonder at the wreath of light around her sinuous elven form, the way pools cupped in the curve of her elbows and slipped in ever-changing ripples down her dress. At her feet spumes of silver spray soared up from the cut sea and scattered through the liquid air, flying like pearls past her ankles in an arc to Aragorn's free opened hand. The faint film of warm mist, while always falling, was always flitting around the boat like one rolling wave, detaching them from the sea's surface and seeming to lift the boat upwards into the shivering air. As the boat began to hum resonantly, Aragorn felt his heart vibrate in harmony with the quivering mirage in front of his glassy eyes.

With her face still warmed by the setting sun, Arwen leant forward on her arms as if to drink the golden light and a musical laugh tinkled out of her lips. When he heard her clear, true voice Aragorn felt his heart leap as if onto his outstretched hand. "I can hear them," she sighed, and from the peace in her tone Aragorn knew that a smile was settled on her lips. With the way the wind whipped up strands of her hair alive with gold, it seemed that the moment was perfectly strung and he did not even have to think it to know that he should not move forward to destroy it.

The voice of Legolas was low and moving, as if in reverence. "They are calling to her," he murmured, his eyes closed. "They are lamenting for their lost Evenstar, the Undómiel of their people who could never join them in their land of peace while she loved a mortal."

A tremor juddered through Aragorn's fingers and a hidden ray of the sun jumped out to stab his eyes. Completely blinded, Aragorn bowed his head and shut his eyes over the warm tears prickling up there from a terrific sense of injustice blazing within. It made his heart pulsate fiercely and with a slight frown Aragorn put a hand over the pounding muscle of his chest.

"Do not regret," Faramir whispered, touching Aragorn's elbow. The nudge disturbed him from his deep concentration but the curling fire which was stretching out its prickling flames continued to blaze hotly inside his chest. "…It was her choice."

"I cannot hear anything," Gimli grumbled, at a hushed volume but still somewhat in levity. "What are they saying, Legolas? For once, pointy ears seem to be a blessing."

"It is both a blessing and a curse to hear their song," Legolas said gently as if explaining to a child. "It is so bittersweet; I could not tell you what they are saying unless I spoke in my people's beautiful tongue. Their sadness is too overwhelming." Aragorn listened to his friend's portrayal, wondering if he could learn anything about this magical feat and be able to even roughly imagine how it would sound in Arwen's ears.

But at that moment, the fervent fire which burned his soul alight heightened so far that its tongues licked his veins and caught onto his blood, shooting down his arms and legs and setting him alive. Everywhere a thin sheet of fire swirled under his skin, fed by the lit blood pouring out of his heart. The heat drifted up and caught in his throat, also stinging his eyes as if with smoke. Aragorn opened his silvery eyes and his lips parted with a hot gasp. His gaze then fell on his Evenstar. The burning grew even more intense.

"Estel…" the name left her lips and hung in the air, fluttering like the banner of Minis Tirith in the breeze. Like the wind stirring up a wildfire, her intent voice full of significance threw up the flames coursing through Aragorn's body and the most powerful emotions of passionate desire and grievous calamity gripped his innermost core. Aragorn furiously blinked back the tears and swallowed in attempt to rid the sickening guilt he attributed the burning to; that immovable, unthinkable, but unavoidable weight on his conscience. It never left him now, it was always there as a reminder that it was because of him that she who he loved had been torn from her people and blemished with the bitterness of mortality she was now wounded with.

With another gust of wind, Aragorn heard the clothes of Legolas, Gimli and Faramir flap like the sound of fish diving back into the sea. They were drawing back, and soon the two of them were left alone. Just him, Aragorn, and her.

He wondered what she had called his elvish name for and whether she wished him to speak. But his voice had all but disintegrated to cinders of his rasped breathing. Yet, in the late afternoon light, with the sound of the sea racing past, a power was magnetising him forward, irresistibly pulling him towards the front of the boat, towards her.

Aragorn took a few steps, but he could not feel the ground move beneath his feet. Everything felt ablaze inside, and when she began to turn, her hair whirling in the wind, he froze, his muscles seized by the consuming fires. Her eyes, lifted up to his, momentarily caught the golden light, where an ancient, deep notion was washed up to the clear surface of her blue eyes, and her glowing face wore the youthful beauty she had innocently worn hundreds of years ago for the first time. Aragorn was captured in the moment, helpless as she gazed at him thoughtfully and then with a rustle of her skirts she walked slowly past him, catching his hand invisibly in hers as she did so.

A fountain of magnificent emotion erupted from the place she elusively touched his human skin. For a second, Aragorn was stunned. Why would someone so perfect want to make contact with him? …She gently pulled him along and the speechless King of Gondor stumbled at her side. Arwen gracefully lowered herself to the wooden floor of the boat, while Aragorn collapsed to his knees at her side. While Arwen did not seem to need to speak, Aragorn felt foolishly dumb next to her. But his attempt was futile: he pulled apart his lips which shaped words that never made a single sound.

Arwen closed her eyes and smiled, still with her fingers laid over his. "Lie down with me, Estel," she compelled him. "Listen, can you hear them?"

Aragorn settled down beside her and warily shut his eyes, his errant senses enhancing the hard wooden planks pressing into his side, the sound of the wind whistling overhead and, most of all, the diffusion of the heavenly scent from Arwen's skin so close by, impossible to escape and almost as impossible to ignore. But when he fixated his mind, all that filled his ears was the rushing of the waves against the hull of the ship and the swaying as they wound their way over the current. The gulls were calling up above as they circled the mast head, and the wind was blowing over his face. Aragorn concentrated so hard, desperately trying to detect up any sound. He relived the sound of the elves' voices as they sang from when he was a child in Imladris, but no new echo fell encouraged upon his ears.

"No, I cannot hear them," he replied sadly, opening his eyes and turning his head to look over at the beautiful elf, her head still lying on the boat's floor.

"No, you must," Arwen whispered keenly. "They are singing, Estel, they are singing to me! Can you not hear? They are calling to us!"

He screwed up his eyes again, forcing himself to be overwhelmed by the sound of the waves, the wind, the gulls, but nothing happened. In vain tears filled his eyes, but all he heard was the voice of Arwen as she murmured low elvish words back to those she could hear.

Aragorn sat up awkwardly and looked down at her. Her face was so peaceful, so delighted. Laughter was on her lips when she sang quietly back. She seemed to hardly be there before him, as if she was in another world, already in Valinor, with the elves, where she belonged.

"No," Aragorn said to her. His voice broke as he talked: "They are not calling to us; they are calling to _you_." He began to weep as this realisation came to him.

"Estel, please…" Arwen begged him, taking both of his hands. Her eyes opened and a bright light shone from within, so stunning that a sigh slipped from Aragorn's lips, and it blinded them both together. "You _have_ to hear! It is so wonderful…"

She continued to plea, pressing her forehead to his, holding his face in her slender hands. But soon, her entreaties took a change. Her tone became more desperate.

"You have to be able to hear! Please, Estel, say you can hear, say they are calling to you too!"

Aragorn clamped his teeth down so hard on his lower lip that he could taste the blood in his mouth. "Arwen," he stuttered, trying to calm his wobbling voice that was being vanquished by the roar of the sea below. "You cannot make me hear them."

The forceful hold Arwen had on him loosened and she slowly pulled back from him, uplifting doleful eyes, full of miscomprehension. Golden light from the sunset, flecks of amber like jewels from the sea, quivered there, unmoving. She examined his face with her eyes. Aragorn watched her do this breathlessly. He did not know if the next time he inhaled would be the last with her scent so intense in the air. He did not want to risk losing his resolve.

"No matter how hard you try, you cannot make me belong with your people in Valinor. I am not of elven kind… It is there that you belong, not me."

Aragorn continued to stare into Arwen's eyes, searching for any sign that might betray her, but it was quite suddenly that he realised that the glistening in her eyes had morphed from glowing gold into sparkling silver, and painful tears of regret were catching her heart rather than the warm light of a distant hopeful song.

"But I love you, Estel," she interjected, her lips barely moving across the soft words.

Aragorn pursed his lips grimly; nodding he looked down, all the while telling himself to ignore what she had just proclaimed.

"You should adhere to this call of hope, Arwen. Do not let me weigh you down with all these ramifications which have brought so much grief upon you. You are free to follow the path you should have taken many years ago."

Arwen's eyes widened, stricken. "But…" Her words were cut off as Aragorn bore an intense stare into her, striving to discern whether it was horror or wonder freshly sprouting there. It must be surprise, surprise to catch a glimpse of a long-longed for desire, a mirage shimmering tantalisingly before her sight. How she must have yearned for such a perfect life… Aragorn knew it was so in the furthest corners of his mind, something he had tried to ignore for years. Something he could not forget, and which he ought to bring out and confront head on.

He sighed and shook his head grimly, knowing how cruel he was about to be. "Can you deny that you have not desired to go?" he demanded, wiping all emotion from his face and staring her down. Under such pressure, abashed Arwen bowed her head and folded beneath his rancorous trick.

A small voice drifted up into the air. "If you want me to go, I will." Arwen plucked a lock of her dark hair and wound it tightly around a finger, risking a glance up at him under thick eyelashes.

"Go," he croaked, while their eye-contact crumpled almost as quickly as it had been founded. Aragorn found that he was not breathing, utterly rigid and his fists locked together like iron. He could not even break the marble expression he felt heavy upon his face. If he dared to try to soften his icy glance, his whole being would crack open and every attempt to save Arwen would fail. He had to force himself to hold together.

Through cold eyes, Aragorn saw Arwen slowly run her fingertips over her eyelids and cheeks, as if fumbling through leafs of memory to find something misplaced. When she ceased and looked up at him, her face was strained and her eyes were opaque, not revealing anything inside.

Her voice was level as she spoke. "Do you want me to leave you and sail to Valinor, for us to be apart forever?"

_Ahh_. Aragorn cringed, but he was so tense that he could not cower away. He was paralysed in the blazing spotlight, captured in the heat of her gaze and encircled by her reverberating voice, sweltering under golden sun. Inside, under his shielding skin, his unprotected soul shuddered, but he could not push the noose of guilt away. With a deploring tone and such a pure, still face, she was employing the same cunning, but tenfold worse, in its fierce calmness, in painful beauty.

Strangled by his fitful conscience, Aragorn squirmed, unseen but it was all the more scourging for that fact. Still Arwen did not release him.

"Aragorn, tell me the truth. Is this what you truly want?"

Of course, it went without saying – even thinking – that he wanted what was best for her. Yet under the spell of her magical blue eyes Aragorn was unable to defy the emotions swimming in his bleeding heart. How could he say he never wanted to see Arwen again? -when every part of his being ached with love for her, so badly he was convinced he would dissolve into a web of excruciation if she abandoned him now. Aragorn was choked by his own poisonous love, all his beliefs and aims crushed by his own selfish sentiments. If he lied, he would be ordering his own epitaph right away. Unable to speak, slowly, unwillingly admitting defeat to his heart, Aragorn dropped his eyes and shook his head.

That small movement broke the paralysis he had been immobilised in and without sight of the horizon, Aragorn sank into a tumultuous darkness. Sickness perpetrated through his stomach like the uncoiling of a snake and he was blinded by the inescapable vision of his own corruption. He hated knowing that in giving way he was assigning Arwen to a life of grief, but he could not pretend any longer. Not when she was so near, so overpowering…

"Aragorn." Arwen said his name, and immediately the nauseous clam in which he had been trapped snapped apart and was dispelled. "Sometimes the truth cannot be denied," she whispered. _Like how much I love you_ Aragorn muttered as a reply in his head, his eyes opening onto Arwen's face. _Too badly_, he hurriedly amended his thoughts. He tried to think sensibly, to arrange more comprehensible musings in his mind, but as he had found frequently before now, when Arwen was so near and pouring forth her gaze so intently, he was utterly blown away. All he could pay heed to was her, nothing about himself, and the words she chose obliterated the reply hazily drifting into shape in his head.

"You wish me to make my choice now," she said softly, watching him with deep azure eyes. "But my choice has been made in the stars for years before our time came. The promise I made to you on Cerin Amroth does not fade in the way a mortal life may. It will shine forever between us, and if you still wish it, I will live my life with you, here."

Aragorn's pulse was so loud that drummed through Arwen's dimmed words and allowed him to compile his own reply. "I can only offer you a glimpse of what everlasting peace Valinor would give you," he muttered morosely in a toneless voice.

Yet Arwen persisted. "What life is given to me has more meaning when I know that an end is to come. I know that your love alone will carry me further. I have found my peace in you."

"I would give you more than a peaceful midpoint amid war," Aragorn insisted. "I do not want you to have a compromise. I want to be able to promise to you that you will have the happiness in life, which you deserve."

A smile twitched Arwen's lips and Aragorn's heart skipped a beat. "I swear to you that you can make such a promise…" she finished amorously. The intensity of her gaze was reigniting the glowing embers crackling in the marrow of his bones and Aragorn felt the heat wash over his face.

"I do not understand," he sighed forlornly. Such frustration he had never before experienced, not being able to know exactly what Arwen thought. Particularly when she appeared to know just what was on his mind, Aragorn felt the sore rift between mortal and elven princess too raw to simply pass by.

"I have all Valinor could offer me in you." - That was all Arwen said, before her sweet smile melted away all of his other sensations. Aragorn hung in her silence, the disbelief riddling everything around him. The more she laughed, the more Aragorn felt like crying hopelessly, such a confusion of emotions was meddling with his heart.

"I promise," Arwen said, teasing him out of his soaring dream. "I may be of elven blood, but all I desire of my kin is here in you. All my memories of elves I can share with you; your upbringing with my father means you act as if you were my own cousin; you understand elves perfectly – better than those of your own blood. You are in every way an elf, except that you are mortal. Like me."

Aragorn's eyes fell closed.

"What is it?" he heard her ask.

"How can I feel so grieved and yet overwhelmed with joy in one moment?" he wept, shying away from her voice.

"It is how our lives are," she said gently, enticing his eyes open. "Love is painful, but it is what holds us together." Aragorn gazed at her, wistfully beholding the truth he saw in her face.

"I cannot deny the truth you speak any longer," Aragorn sighed, tilting his line of sight down but glancing reservedly up to her. "All I can say is that I love you more than you know…" He shielded his face decorously, and at this Arwen dazzled.

"I am glad of the former, but of the latter, do not be so certain," she informed him brazenly. "My love for you is stronger than the boundaries of this world." Now Aragorn held her gaze, knowing full well her words were fulfilled in the choice she was at this very moment eliciting. Though serious and honest as it was, she still smiled, and Aragorn could not help mirroring her.

"Complain no longer," she said, boldly but tenderly. Arwen's eyes twinkled and Aragorn laughed, bubbles of exquisite elation were rising up in him and exploding so vehemently. The utmost happiness he had only ever experienced on rare, special occasions with Arwen, in Lothlórien, Imladris, their wedding, that night together… those leaps of bounding joy all erupted within him now and made him giddy with love. He was unable to move away from her, as if she magnetised him towards her, and yet he was afraid to touch her as if the vibrating euphoria would shatter.

"Estel," she whispered, noiselessly drawing closer to him, "where I truly belong is with you."

In his heart, Aragorn knew this was right. This was how it was meant to be… Their fingertips brushed over one another and Aragorn gently closed his hand over hers, revelling in the rush soaring up from where he touched her. The gesture was only small; nevertheless it meant everything to them both. Aragorn felt as if the centre of Arda was rooted in the exhilarating place they touched, and he understood that this was indeed the pull on his life. He could now only thank Arwen with his eyes, and hope that she could feel as clearly as she could see the greatest happiness she was bringing him by giving him her life, by choosing him.

Arwen gazed at him lovingly, her beauty framed by the aureate sunset radiating all around. Still in its splendour it was an injustice to the dazzling light of her love Aragorn felt pouring out of her and flowing tempestuously into him. Together with her, he felt electrified, with the ship flying over the sea, the wind rushing past, and the waves surging powerfully below, in harmony with the exhilaration the two experienced as they rested delicately entwined together.

With an intimate smile, Arwen slowly laid her head against Aragorn's shoulder, and contentedly shut her eyes. This was her home, in Aragorn's heart. While he absorbed the electricity exuding from her alluringly light pressure on his racing chest, he looked up and saw the fine black wings of the gulls stretched out on the high wind upon the sky's expanse. They were flying to Valinor, above the restless waves, crested with exquisite gold lace. But this evening, the ship was turning around, and Arwen was leaving the West behind her. The light of her love was unmatched by the light of the West. In joyous abandon and the wildest disbelief, Aragorn had won Arwen, the beautiful and gentle enchantress of his heart.


	40. Love is the Best Healer

Hi, sorry this has taken a few weeks - I've just started my IB exams so I'm busy working hard at the mo - but I expect you'll enjoy this chapter I've written, it's lovely and happy :) In three weeks I'll be done and I'll be able to write more, but until then, read this!

40. Love is the Best Healer

Nightshade was unfolding from the depths of the East, yet ever since she had turned away from the dying sunset Arwen's way had been lit by the bright silver lantern which Aragorn held in front of her. They had not spoken again before returning to their friends and their homeland, but their smiles said far more than words ever could. Arwen conjured to mind the covert looks of joy Aragorn had sent to her over intervals that evening and she had trouble restraining a laugh from bursting out of her lips.

She surveyed the small carriage, which seemed much more warm and wholesome now that the atmosphere had changed… or was it due to their two friends, Legolas and Gimli, who softened the shadows' edges? Their voices rumbled tunefully in small-talk, but all Arwen heard were the notes of delight which could not be hidden either from Legolas' timbre or Gimli's booming laugh. She knew those glances which both the elf and the dwarf threw over to their side of the carriage. It made her want to laugh. They all knew the excitement and relief that was sitting so vividly between them, but it was so clear that no one need mention it. That was above raising to speech. On another, higher plain, the emotion and knowledge hummed between her and Aragorn.

Offhandedly Arwen ran her eyes from the lantern over him to the window, pretending not to suck in all his beauty in the rapid gesture. She intently poured over the details she had scanned into her mind while she looked out into the darkness with glazed eyes. His repose was relaxed, loose as if all strain had been pulled out of him, and his cheek appeared lifted, as if made rosy by summer sun. But his dark locks of hair had slipped down past his eyes, in that careless attractive way, and his eyes were fastened low, in pensive thought which made Arwen wonder, so intrigued, what was running through his mind. Could it be her? She imagined this, and instantly squirmed with pointless excitement inside. Thoughts like that were useless, and doubtless unrealistic… but the pleasure it gave her was immeasurable. She was sure that would never change.

Should she dare to try the real thing? Arwen circled her forefinger over her thumb, deciding. There was nothing to lose now, she decided. What would be would be. So what if Legolas was furtively checking her every move – it mattered not what others thought of her. All that mattered was Aragorn.

Him – just his name made a smile lift her face. And that fact made her want to laugh out loud. This was hopeless happiness – she was tossed in an overwhelming bowl of elation. But she would have it this way over any other. So she would look at him – just this once – and drink in his appearance with such undue fulfilment.

Taking a large, but stealthily silent breath, Arwen brought up her glance and let it be magnetised towards his face. It felt so easy, letting her eyes be drawn in; she had not realised how hard she had been striving not to look at Aragorn. As soon as she beheld him, a wave of contentment soared up from below and soothed her body and her mind completely. Her imagination never did his exquisite face justice. All his individual features… some wholeness and striking beauty was missing when she pored over them in her memory. But now when she analysed them, something was made to dance in her heart. He was hers! She wanted to laugh, she thought her fortune so lucky! How could such love be graced upon her? A short mortal lifetime full of this feeling expanded out of eternity with gusto.

His chin nudged upwards and his eyes flicked up to look into hers; Arwen felt her heart nearly jump a mile and it leapt about in her chest like a shooting star. A secretive smile crept up one side of his face, his eyes holding hers and understanding her happiness… the love they shared. It was too powerful – the whole carriage seemed to be singing so richly around her – Arwen felt herself bow under his dazzling gaze and she shyly hid her eyes from his body, swallowing as she struggled to decide whether he had realised the effect he was having upon her or not. It seemed impossible that such high-flying vibrant emotion could be restrained with no extravagant visual signs… but even if she had managed to subdue those, which in turn made the inner feeling more concentrated, she was convinced those revelations her eyes had betrayed would condemn her to a lifelong sentence of improper addiction to and absorbance in another person.

A person… Aragorn deserved more than that. In her soul, he lived and flourished as one of the Valar, revered and worshipped. His worldly knowledge and acceptance surpassed anything she had seen in any other living being… and when his understanding and care was turned to her – she was electrified. Even now the floodlit imprint of his handsome face fired her nerves and made a sweet, high rush tunnel through her burning marrow and swirl so calmly just under her skin, and all the while a torrent of fire blazed in her core. Why did he not affect other people so? Arwen knew she was in love with him more than any other, but still she could to no extent comprehend why even his good looks did not send people off the edge in crazy adoration. His gentle nature was even more seductive… the more she knew about him, the less she could let go. She felt so privileged to be allowed simply to sit here, opposite him, and bathe in his divine presence.

The journey had been long before, but now it was not so. Nothing would be too much, if he was with her. Yet she would take the end, when it came. She would not argue, for she had been lucky enough that he had granted her some of his time and presence with her. That wondrous knowledge would carry her through eternity.

He began speaking now, his low voice steady as he engaged in conversation with the other two, but Arwen examined it for any hint of his true thoughts. She stole a glance at him; his frame was turned towards Legolas, but with his arm on the window ledge his head was tipped towards her, and his eyes slipped back to her without her even asking.

He only looked at her for a moment, his words then speaking a line of thought worlds apart; but he demonstrated to her that the same depth was occupying his thoughts and emotions as was hers. Arwen smiled, wanting to share the conversation with someone so perfect who by some miracle loved her, yet being so enveloped by erratic eruptions of ecstasy she was not able to do so.

Could Aragorn read her every thought? …He looked back at her again, and smiled too – so warmly and broadly Arwen thought she might tip off her seat in a faint. How could he pour so much love into one gaze, and still carry boundless supplies of more in his soul? Arwen did not know. She felt confused in his love now. But with careless abandon, she took it with open arms. She gazed back into his eyes, and wished with all her heart that it would make him feel the paradise she was experiencing right this very moment.

xxxxxx

"Daybreak is not far off," Aragorn murmured, tilting his gaze up towards the velvety sky through the window. Above the stark white buildings lining Minas Tirith's streets, it still appeared the same dark blue colour it had occupied for the last few hours of the journey.

"It is not tomorrow yet for me," Arwen said, drawing back his eyes and watching the smile of humour twinkle there. How she would do anything just to keep him talking, to continually hear the wondrous words he purred, to prolong their moment together. Their quiet conversation had continued for an hour or two at least, with Gimli fast asleep for most of that, and Legolas pretending to be for just as long. That length of time was not enough, nor would any length of time satisfy, but Arwen fled back through their myriad of words in her mind, commending them all to her engraved memory, and wishing the carriage would slow as the wheels spun up the road into the citadel and buy her more shreds of time.

"Tomorrow will be the same as today," Aragorn said softly in reassurance. Arwen glanced up from her troubled thoughts, only now realising how well he could read her. She gave a casual laugh and cupped a hand to the back of her neck, looking unseeingly at Gimli's heaving chest and trying to ignore the pang which fretted inside so desperately. Aragorn was not deceived so easily: "It will be," he said again.

Suddenly Arwen felt a warm touch on her free hand and she spun round to see Aragorn leaning intimately towards her, tenderly enclosing her fingers in his. The gesture was so touching; her heart leapt and she lost all coherent thoughts as he poured his eyes into hers. "Trust me," he promised, sealing her qualms with an intensification of his gaze. Arwen nodded and settled back in her seat, trying to smooth out the rigidity in her frame.

Beside her, she saw Gimli stirring with a grumble, and across the carriage Legolas' bright blue eyes were centred on Aragorn's hand holding hers. All of a sudden she realised the carriage had stopped – no wonder her heart had lurched to such a height – and she blushed in the outstretching silence.

The door beside them was opened and Aragorn stooped forward to climb down, teasing his hand out of hers, but his thigh brushed her knee at the same time. Arwen could not scold the impulse to smile and she hurried to follow the man she loved before Legolas' all-seeing eyes could detect the reprehensible emotions bubbling beneath the surface. When she lifted her head up to inhale the cool night air, she saw Aragorn's hand held out beside her, an offering to help her down. No contemplation was needed; instantly she lowered her hand delicately into his, before smoothly descending to the ground in his steadying hold.

She waited for him to steal back his hand again, but that crime never occurred. Arwen instinctively drew closer to his side, smiling in relief and joy as her eyes followed the circle of light which hovered on the steps before her scurrying skirts. She remembered the time she had stood upon these steps and the bitterness of the parting that cold morning…

"What is it?" Aragorn's voice stirred her reminiscence and Arwen realised she had stopped. She looked away from the distant point of the battlements across the Court and left those dark memories behind.

"Nothing," she said, and truly smiled with no weight overshadowing her. Aragorn inclined his head and shepherded her through the door he held open for her into the Great Hall. There upon their entrance the lantern's brightness swelled, for no torches were lit inside and the windows held only blackness. But, after climbing the short staircase up to their chambers, when she stepped into their bedroom a golden glow spilled out in front of her. All around, on windowsills and tables, little candles were lit and warmed the royal room.

Behind her, Arwen heard Aragorn exhale as he smiled and unfastened the cloak before laying it on a chair.

"You must be weary," he said, watching her as she drew near to one of the little candles and inhaled its sweet flowery scent. "You have had a long day; why did you not sleep on the journey back?"

Arwen turned around, finding Aragorn inches away and his light fingers pulling back the twilight cloak from her shoulders. Momentarily she closed her eyes, absorbing the trickling sensations as his fingers undid the lacing at the back of her dress. "I feel more alive that I have for a long time," she admitted slowly, carefully choosing her words, "I do not want to lose a second."

Aragorn sighed heavily, his breath tickling her ear, and Arwen glanced up over her shoulder to see him meet her eyes. "Mortality may seem a bitterly short prospect for an elf, but you do not have to seize every moment… You need rest, meleth." Aragorn's eyes dropped down to her rounded stomach, over which he now pulled down the dress he had undone. Arwen twisted out of it with a shiver, standing very close next to him in her white shift.

"I disagree; it seems beautifully sweet," she whispered, looking up at him from under her thick eyelashes. Aragorn blinked.

"Arwen…" he sighed, shaking his head, and he playfully pushed her back towards the bed. She willingly gave way and lay down on the soft covers, her body basking in the warm candlelit glow and the dark hunger of her eyes becoming clearer. Aragorn saw this and laughed under his breath. He moved around and sat down beside her, looping an arm around her head on the pillow, and stroked out her silken hair, appearing to be unaware of the heated stare Arwen bore onto his face.

"Is this what you really want, now?" he muttered, tracing his fingertips knowingly over the sensitive skin around her ear and along her cheekbone. Only now did he finally look at her, under his own shadow, and Arwen felt a surge of pleasure carve a beautiful smile on her lips.

"Oh…" Aragorn sighed again, the vibrations of his deep breath stirring the desire in Arwen's heart, and she watched elatedly as he let his defences dissolve and become subject to her molten heart. His grey eyes washed over all the delicate features of her face, before looking directly back at her and striking her soul. He leant in slowly, repeatedly telling her she could halt him with one word, but she held her silence, opening her lips and letting heated breaths waft upwards. At length Aragorn succumbed and closed his eyes, and when a returning breath flowed over her face Arwen also let herself fall into a dreamlike greyness.

The heat dancing on her lips intensified and Arwen could not restrain her entire body from quivering with expectation. She felt the infinitesimally minute distance between herself and Aragorn become more and more electrified, while the anticipation opened up between them, irrefutably pulling them closer.

Then, at last, a gloriously tangible warmth enveloped her lips, moving over them in a tender softness, evoking a wondrous release in Arwen's heart and she trembled violently to be unified so intimately with this amazing man who loved her. Feeling her move beneath him seemed to break Aragorn's tentative resilience; a hot breath passed into Arwen's mouth and, as if he had breathed onto a fire, love erupted bountifully in her soul and she soared so high that all other sensations of reality fell away. Having discreetly parted her lips wide Aragorn gently slipped his tongue over hers and Arwen felt a moan of pleasure cascade from her own throat and call him on. She curved with him and moved in the same dance, wholly enthralled by his divine touch, the touch which elicited such fantastic responses in her. The relief to feel him, so close, after so long; to express the love she had hidden for so long; to receive his own emotions, was so immense that after that one single kiss Arwen felt both tranquilly fulfilled and utterly exhausted.

She opened her eyes upon Aragorn, who was laughing softly with a broad smile. He looked at her slyly, and she wondered if he was laughing at the pacing heartbeat in her chest or the joyous emotion she had given him. "Arwen," he murmured, shaking his head while he held a splayed hand on her throat and collarbone. "I've missed you."

Arwen's breath shook and his vulnerable eyes flicked back to hers. She saw how he had laid everything open to her, and she recognised for the first time not the extent of his love for her, but the hurt he had borne when she had denied his love. It was a pain that was not easily forgotten, and Arwen hated herself for causing it. Frowning she lifted up a hand and gently laid it on his chest to heal the scar from where Aragorn's love had bled out of his wounded heart. Beneath her skin she noticed the fast heartbeat which she had provoked.

"I am sorry," she whispered, searching his eyes for forgiveness. But instead she found his own plea.

"I am sorry for not looking after you," he told her, taking her hand and laying it on her chest instead. "I may have been hurt, but so were you, and because of my negligence. Can you forgive me, and trust that I will never be so careless with my greatest treasure again?"

"Of course," Arwen sighed, her brow crumpling when she saw the pricks of tears in Aragorn's eyes. "Please; never doubt my trust in you again. I can only just bear the knowledge of what I did to you by knowing I will never let that happen again. I have seen that you always loved me, whatever I have done. Thank you for seeing more than I did."

A crooked smile lifted Aragorn's face. "Thank you for choosing me."

And in that trump, they knew they were united. "I don't want today to end," Arwen confessed, her weak voice desperately pleading with him. Aragorn bent forward and wrapped her in a tight hug. She squeezed her eyes shut and laced her arms around his body too, never wanting to undo them again.

She heard his voice muffled by the pillow. "It is tomorrow, Arwen," he said. "And everything is the same. Do not fear that it will change if you fall asleep." He pulled back, and he was too strong for Arwen to resist; her elbows dropped back limply onto the bed. "We will be just the same." He smiled warmly and pressed a finger to her lips.

"You are promising me," Arwen murmured, her eyelids fluttering down now that she was assured that knowledge by the one person she trusted more than any other. She felt his weight leave the bed and his hands pulling the blankets over her.

"I am," he assured her. Then he pressed a kiss to her lips and Arwen instantly melted away into peaceful happiness which did not fully evaporate when he moved away.

She watched languidly as he journeyed around their room, blowing out all the candles on the way. When the last one flickered out, she held the vision of Aragorn's dim silhouette in her mind, already missing his face and feeling the soreness rankle in her chest.

As if he knew this thought, feeling it too, at that point Aragorn rolled into bed, rapidly closing the distance between them, and he curled up at her side with a hand laid on her chest.

"This will always be here between us, forever." His soft breath brushed her lips and lulled her into sleep. Arwen did not fight back. At long last, she was home.

xxxxxx

A pale, clear light was filling the room and Arwen followed the ray from the window to where the winter sun hovered on the white blankets. She snuggled under them and curled around, turning her head as she listened to the remaining birds in the garden outside, and the distant shouts of people in the streets below. Then, as her line of sight lifted, it met Aragorn, posed in the doorway to the bathroom. He took one arm off the doorframe to run a hand through his wet hair, a smile rising up his face.

At this, Arwen remembered what had happened the night before. Already it felt as if she had imagined their kiss; it did not help that she could not believe that it had happened, so cut apart from her dead life before. "What time is it?" she murmured lazily, enjoying adjusting to this new way of life. She bent down even further under the covers as Aragorn casually took a few steps nearer to the foot of the bed.

"It is almost midday," he replied, letting the dark dripping locks hang down over his forehead and into his eyes. "But do not worry," he said, suddenly holding out a hand to calm Arwen when she gave a start, "a king may do as he please once in a while." He gave her a crafty smile and Arwen relaxed, tilting her head to one side.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked, stretching and admiring the sheen on Aragorn's skin. He must have just washed…

"Long enough for me to want to wake you up," he replied airily.

Arwen frowned and stopped wriggling under the blankets. "Why would you want to wake me up?"

Aragorn bent down to lean around the bedpost and trace swirling figures on the bedsheets with his fingertips. "I may have been granted time to watch you, but that does not satisfy me like talking to you will."

"Hmm." After thinking over that for a while, Arwen pushed herself up against the pillows. Aragorn was still drawing shapes, his fingers loosely sculpting invisible scenes. His eyes were lowered, his mind intent on something else other than this room. It fascinated Arwen and she watched him contentedly.

After a while he stood up and shook the hair out of his eyes. "Prince Imrahil arrived here an hour ago with an escort," he announced, looking down at her.

"Why?" Arwen asked in surprise.

"It seems there is going to be a party tonight," Aragorn said, tapping the bed post before pivoting round it and making his way to the side of the bed. "People want to celebrate the liberation of their kingdom and the promise of its happy future." He sat down and leant back on one arm, looking deep into her eyes. A pulse of electricity shot through Arwen's nerves as she realised the meanings beneath his words. She smiled warmly.

"Who else will join us?"

Aragorn bent back his neck, lifting his eyes to the ceiling and showering the bed covers with little raindrops. "Faramir and Éowyn, your brothers, Legolas and Gimli, Beregond, Erandur – the others we rescued – elves from Ithilien; and it seems Prince Imrahil was not alone in the knowledge of just what the cleansing of Minas Ithil means." His gaze fell across to Arwen's eyes. "Celros is coming too."

Arwen felt a smile light up her face. "Excellent!" She bit her lip, trying to restrain the excitement inside her. Parties were always fun, but right now she had more to celebrate than she suspected anyone else knew.

She found herself gazing into Aragorn's warm grey eyes, and soon assented that maybe one other person knew the happiness she felt dancing around with carefree abandon. She was entranced by the depth of his eyes, fathomless as the sea, but as beautiful as the starlit sky. Only when she deemed it an inappropriately long length of time to be staring at someone did she half-heartedly pull back the covers and drop her gaze in resignation.

Arwen was surprised when she heard Aragorn call out to her. "How is he?" His voice was incredibly tender, and she looked round to see his eyes move up from her stomach. In there she saw a long-restrained desire, held back because of her. Arwen smiled and moved back onto the bed, closing the distance between them.

"He would be even better if he felt his father's touch," she said quietly, following Aragorn's trembling hand as he laid it on her curved belly. A light, pleasant sensation rippled out from where he touched her, and Arwen realised how devoid she had been without him, for so long living a phantom life, cold and lacking meaning, hurting not only herself, but Aragorn… His warm fingers were now moving over her with the utmost care, and when she saw his expression, his brow was crumpled to hide the tide of emotion welling up within. Arwen could not stay silent.

"Estel," she whispered. He blinked and, with his hand stilled, a second later looked up, having cleared his eyes. Arwen leant forward, noticing how her own hands were shaking, and she soaked up his beauty, so intense in this vibrant proximity. "Do you mind…?" she breathed and heard the tremors in her voice. She allowed her eyes to dance down to his lips, but all the while her mind was gripped by the fear that he had still not healed enough from her wounds to allow her back into his heart. What if she had just dreamt about the kiss he had given her last night? What if she was foolishly believing that everything would instantly fall back into its neat place? What if he was afraid of coming close to her…?

With a jolt Arwen saw Aragorn shake his head and a hollow "no" barely shaped the air between his lips. Her heart was racing so fiercely but Arwen slowly moved closer and gently pressed her lips to his. Instantly the memory of the last kiss flickered through Arwen's mind and she found herself and Aragorn melt perfectly together. She kissed him deeply, slower than the kiss from the night before, but expressing something far more profound. Her hands crept around his damp back, while his arms protectively encircled her body. When Aragorn reclaimed his lips and opened her eyes, Arwen was shaking inconsolably. She instinctively folded into his arms, which were cradled around her, and they hugged each other closely, both momentarily too absorbed in overwhelming emotions to be able to speak. Aragorn carefully pried her away from him to kiss her again, and gradually Arwen felt the fear, changed to shock and relief, now morphing back into joy and pure love.

They rested their foreheads together, sharing the air their breaths both warmed. Aragorn entwined his fingers with hers, and as Arwen looked down at this, she found herself laughing with pleasure at the sight.

"What is it?" he questioned her, pulling away and freeing up the space between them again. However Arwen simply smiled and hid her thought from him.

"I am going to enjoy this evening…" Aragorn muttered to himself, climbing to his feet and bringing Arwen with him. She stood up and smoothed out her waves of hair.

"At the party?" she proposed, watching his twinkling eyes.

"…That is what you believe," he said, his eyebrows levitating for a second and revealing his true meaning. Arwen laughed and laid her head on his warm chest.

"Come on," Aragorn chuckled and steered her towards the bathroom. "You only have a few hours… you would not want to be late."

Arwen moaned softly in protest as she was forced to move out of his comfortable hold. "I wouldn't want to miss a single minute," she said, walking away from the bed but keeping his hands in hers. She looked back over her shoulder so that she could watch him following her, but at that moment it was his lips which found her, not his eyes.

"You are distracting me, Aragorn!" Arwen chided him, dropping down out of his new-found embrace and hurrying into the bathroom. It was all steamy, as if a great dragon was basking in their hot bathtub, and everywhere the thick air smelt of those alluring perfumes Aragorn washed in. Arwen was brought to an abrupt halt and she light-headedly inhaled a sharp lungful of the scent.

Aragorn's voice trailed after her. "But you said you did not wish to miss a single minute," he proclaimed, mock-hurt. Arwen opened her eyes and turned around innocently.

"So I did, truthfully," she murmured.

Aragorn walked forward and slid his arms around her waist. This time, when his stomach pressed against hers, she did not voice her complaint. "But I thought you had taken my meaning."

"I had," Arwen answered.

"Then you will understand that I thought you meant you did not wish to miss a single minute of _my_ company," he whispered in her ear. Arwen smiled, and when he drew back to look into her eyes she swiftly kissed him.

"So indeed it is lucky we have a few hours to get ready," she resigned and gazed with ease back into his swirling grey eyes, framed by the long dark locks of his wet hair. "…Let us prepare for this evening well." Now it was Aragorn's turn to take her meaning and smile, and he kissed her once more.


	41. Bright Celebrations

I apologise that this chapter has taken so long. There will be one more update after this. Thank you for reading!

41. Bright Celebrations

One thing which Aragorn had failed to mention about the celebration that evening, despite being paramount to it, was the dress code. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, breaking their long fast of drinking (it had seemed inappropriate behaviour during Arwen's illness) with champagne at no later than ten o'clock in the morning, amidst much jolly laughter (most noticeable from Gimli) and twinkles of the eye (particularly from Legolas), had decided just how wondrous an idea it would be for everyone to come dressed as people significantly involved the War of the Ring – now that the Battle of Middle-Earth, with cleansed Minas Ithil reinstated by the elves, was finally over – however, to add to the fun, there was the rule that nobody could come as themselves.

_What better way to celebrate?_ Legolas had asked his two friends, explaining that dressing as their heroes would reinforce the message that the lands around Gondor were safe places once more where happiness and peace could bloom freely. Gimli had furthermore pointed out that by looking ridiculous, spirits would be raised for sure, and most effortlessly especially if they the heroes themselves, along with the King, were involved.

Henceforth, the rapid decisions for each other's costumes were made; Legolas was first nominated as a Dark Elf (for in truth he had played the part incredibly well before) despite protestations, but Gimli would not give in to the elf cheating and playing a "nice" role; swiftly Aragorn was ordered to become Gandalf for the evening (Legolas had affectionately noted that many of Aragorn's stern, wise-seeming mannerisms made him well-suited to such a position). But it was with the surest conviction that Gimli's character was decided.

"What do you mean, _Galadriel_?" Gimli had exploded.

"Yes, yes!" Aragorn lolled back in his chair, helpless with laughter.

"But you admired her so profoundly," Legolas explained their joint decision, all innocent.

"So- what- where do you see- bah!" Gimli spluttered. From underneath his bushy eyebrow, two dark eyes glinted furiously. "I cannot believe this!"

"But I do believe that it would suit you so well," Legolas said calmly, turning to Aragorn. "Do you not agree, King Elessar?" he added, now with a smile pulling up one corner of his mouth.

"Yes, yes…!" was all Aragorn could reply, propping his head up on a shaking arm. His fist clenched up and his elbow nearly drove right through the creaking wooden armrest.

"I will not stand this treachery, and from _you_, Aragorn!" Gimli protested. "He-" a finger jabbed accusingly at Legolas, "- _he_ just wants to see me humiliated as an elf! Preposterous. At least he could show the courtesy of dressing as a dwarf."

"Too late now," Aragorn sighed, mock-sadly, without pity for his pleading friend. "But if that be the case, perhaps we will assent to you coming as Celeborn, rather than Galadriel."

Aragorn flicked his eyes to Legolas', and promptly the elf nodded hesitantly. "We agree to relax the decision this once," he said. Gimli groaned and leant forward over his champagne.

"…What a celebration… I do not have to wear a dress…"

"But you have the joy of being an elf for one night!" Legolas' happy voice triumphed above him. "What more could you wish for?"

"Indeed," Aragorn agreed, privately fantasising about how glorious it would be if he could morph into an elf… an equal with Arwen… even for one night alone.

"Oh…" Gimli moaned. He sat up and thrust out his glass. "More liquor."

"Champagne?" Legolas asked doubtfully. Had his friend actually changed his mind, and honestly wanted to rejoice rather than be reviled by the thought of being an elf?

"No!" - dismissively. "Something stronger. I don't want to be able to remember any of this."

As Legolas sent a shocked servant off for some well-brewed ale, it still being only late morning, Aragorn nudged the elf and leant forward, holding a hand over his mouth as he whispered in Legolas' ear, "Not too much mind you. I know our dwarf's plan. Do not let him become unconscious… no escape."

They smiled while Gimli wrung his beard worriedly. This was quickly turning out to be one evening which would assuredly raise anyone's spirits immensely.

xxxxxx

Festivities were initiated soon after the three companions had been booted out of the Great Hall and scurried off to search for oddities needed in their costumes. Elves from Ithilien had already filtered in and now began the process of transforming the marble vault into a magical woodland scene. Bounteous trails of ivy were wound skilfully around the huge tree-like pillars, while lanterns of silver, gold, white, pink and blue were strung between the arches, and real gold mallorn leaves were swept over the floor. The cold stone sculpture in each alcove was crowned with a wreath of fir and holly for the first time in their long history, and their immobilised eyes looked upon the lighting of a small fire in the centre of the hall, which over the day progressed into a great bonfire emitting resinous lavender-coloured smoke scented of distant green forests and flower-filled meadows. These welcoming smoky tendrils wound up to the royal bedchamber where Arwen was dressing an hour before it started to mingle with other wafts blowing up from the bustling kitchens which the elves had underhandedly taken over.

After halting momentarily to work out which exquisite dishes and deserts were speedily taking form below, Arwen drifted serenely over to the window. Outside dusty nightfall had settled over the grey city, but she could see a multitude of white lights were flocked in the Court of the Fountain, and each second another bubble of light popped out from the gateway to the lower levels, as if an irresistible tide was washing the people of the city up into the citadel rock-pool. Now she began to hear the murmur of voices rumbling up from the hall below; the guests were arriving thick and fast.

Despite having had the whole afternoon to plan her costume, Aragorn had seen to it that only half of the time at the most was spent preparing it. On the occasions when he had gone out for a few minutes to either give belongings to other friends (normally Elrohir) or to acquire garments and props himself, Arwen leapt up from the fireside where they had sat in each others' arms, talking and laughing, to dash about the room. Now she was wearing a floor-length white dress, concealing and elegant, embroidered with golden strings of vines and flowers. After bathing, she had used powders, balms and ointments to make her face and lips paler, while accentuating her cheekbones to look more like her fair grandmother, the Lady of the Golden Wood. Now, as she left the window, she took a fluid silk shawl, of a pale creamy gold colour, and covered her head with this, giving the appearance of having golden hair. Arwen went to the mirror by the bath-stand and leant forward, examining her appearance and tucking a stray lock of brown hair out of sight.

Aragorn found her like this, concentrating so hard that she did not perceive his presence until she noticed a white-hooded figure behind her in the mirror. Arwen spun round, all shock of being startled banished when her eyes fell on Gandalf the White standing smiling serenely and twinkling his eyes. A smile burst out over her face and she laughed softly, admiring both the sweeping white robes, embroidered painstakingly with cream leaves, and the busy grey-white beard he had somehow acquired in the last hour.

"Good evening, Lady Galadriel," Aragorn boomed, making his voice lower than usual.

"You look just like a young Gandalf," Arwen said honestly, discerning that Aragorn's slightly weathered tanned skin, hinting at more than years had actually passed, did not look so dissimilar to Gandalf's wrinkled face; although Aragorn's nose was not as big.

"How old?" this young Gandalf asked her. "Only one thousand years of age?"

They laughed together, then Aragorn grasped a tall white stick from the bed, on the top of which sat a large fir-cone painted white… some improvisation had been necessary, but that made the preparations all the more fun and the party satisfying. Arwen put on a ring with a large but delicate white flower, to represent Nenya, and then beamed.

"This is so exciting," she said, almost tugging Aragorn over to the door. He laughed deeply, still keen on keeping up the pretence.

"I never knew you found Gandalf so intriguing," he said ponderously, offering her his arm as they made their way down the short flight of stairs into the Great Hall. Arwen's tinkling giggles soon became obscured by the roar of happy voices in a multitude of different conversations, doubtless covering the same subject. Arwen lifted her chin and smoothed out her face, holding a more respectable smile, as the warm yellow glow of the hall lit up before their feet and rose up their bodies.

When she and Aragorn stepped out of the archway into the Great Hall, a hush spread like wildfire. Then, with all the upturned faces glowing with the golden light shimmering off the ceiling, a band of heralds trumpeted joyously, leaving echoes reverberating endlessly around the room, and another herald stepped forward to announce their presence.

"The King Elessar, Aragorn son of Arathorn, and his lady Queen Arwen Undómiel."

The crowd applauded politely; as Arwen scanned the room, she noticed how the cheering was more restrained and reserved, as if they were too relieved that such a happy day had come that they would not risk scaring it away with too much dared enthusiasm, and how many of the elves poured a much more sincere, intense expression of joy into their eyes than was revealed in the remainder of their countenance. Beside her, she felt the happiness radiating out from Aragorn, just like the white light had beamed out so brilliantly from Gandalf's staff, so powerful that out of the corner of her vision, she was convinced she had glimpsed a sparkle in his eye.

The clapping descended into a gentler chorus of softly-spoken voices, and then Aragorn opened his arms wide and said, "May I correct you, my good sir, for tonight you all welcome Gandalf the White and Galadriel of Lothlórien to your celebration."

The hall rang with the chimes of hundreds of people laughing and Arwen too found herself giggling at her husband's wit. This only heightened when their companions came forward to stand grinning at their side, and were announced as other friends – or each other. There was a rather too youthful-looking Gandalf the Grey, as well as a lavishly dressed Boromir, complete with round shield and ox-horn, and a rather peculiar Legolas – Prince Imrahil, despite having elven blood, was not quite slight enough or blonde enough, despite his best efforts of borrowing Legolas' famed bow and green breeches. Under cover of the laughter and numerous jovial remarks, the five of them (who were really Aragorn, Arwen, Éomer, Faramir and Imrahil) slipped down off the dais and headed for the nearest vacant archway, under which was a beautifully filled table. Gandalf the Grey immediately helped himself to one of the tasty pastries and Arwen found Éowyn, dressed up as if for battle in her brother's armour and helmet, clinking over to her side.

"Thank goodness he listened to my advice," she told Arwen in a hushed voice, her eyes upon Éomer. "He wanted to come as a troll, but thankfully I managed to persuade him out of it."

Arwen gave a well-mannered laugh which would have come out as a snort on anyone else less graceful. "I wonder why he wanted to be a troll," she contemplated, watching another pastry disappear under the brim of the big blue pointed hat looked just like the one the 'old Gandalf' used to wear. "That would have been quite different."

"I have had enough of his quirks, he is embarrassing enough for an over-protective brother," Éowyn muttered.

"What was that?" The women both looked up to see Elladan looking at them intently, his bare feet suggesting that he was a hobbit for the evening, and close by was Elrohir, disguised as the Ranger Aragorn himself, wearing a suspecting smile. "Which of us it the over-protective brother?" Elladan pressed, his smile almost breaking into a chuckle.

"Your sharp hearing sometimes does you wrong," Éowyn accused him strictly before Arwen could even open her mouth to explain.

"We apologise for our eavesdropping, ladies," Elrohir said with a gracious bow. As he did so, Arwen noticed that Aragorn must have lent her brother his old grey-brown leather tunic which covered his back, now recognising the faint imprints of the White Tree on his arms, and the creases from a familiar stature a little sturdier than Elrohir's. There was even Andúril sheathed at his side, and the green stone elfstone she herself had sent to Aragorn, pinned on his shoulder. Arwen appraised her brother for getting so into a human celebration.

She drifted back into the conversation, where Éowyn was clearly enjoying herself, still not having revealed that she had been referring to her own brother, and challenging one of them to a duel, should they harass Arwen forthwith.

"That would have to be you," Elladan turned to his brother. "I am afraid hobbits do not like war; besides, you have the sword."

"Be careful, Elrohir," Arwen warned. "Do not readily forget Éowyn's last victim – the Witch King of Angmar. She is a threat to be reckoned with most carefully." Arwen caught Éowyn's eye from under the horse-plumed helmet and gave her a wink, while Elrohir pulled a worried face. "You had better live up to my husband's reputation, I do not want his achievements in battle undermined by my own brother," she continued to tease.

"And to think, you could have missed out on all of this," Elladan addressed Arwen with a smile. "I must say, life in Middle-Earth is packed with far more adventures than in Valinor, by the sound of things. I doubt you would be quite so entertained in the company of Elrond and Celebrían."

"Or tormented," Arwen corrected, but she was only having fun. She knew the subject of her near-sailing was still painful when brought to mind, but her brothers managed to touch it smoothly and with perfect ease, and she was grateful to them for that.

"Look!" Éowyn said, pointing over the nearby corner of the Great Hall, where a huddle of servants was beginning to disperse. "Dinner has arrived! Just as well," she muttered, catching Arwen and her brothers' eyes, "Éomer has almost single-handedly demolished the appetisers."

Elrohir laughed, and Elladan said, "Such sisterly love."

"Oh, you should definitely be careful," Éowyn said, with a dangerous tone in her voice. Next to her, Arwen nodded. How fun it certainly was, teasing and abusing brothers with your friends. As the meal got underway, it occurred to Arwen how strange and unfamiliar the thought of missing out on all of this mirth was. At that moment she truly felt at home; not even Valinor could compare.

xxxxxx

They all sat down for the banquet in the fashion of the feasts of woodland elves, seated upon cushions on the ground in circles, where they passed bowls laden with food from hand to hand. To Arwen, it felt excitingly like something out of her memory long ago, feasting with her father and brothers around a bright red fire at the hospitality of Thranduil and Legolas in Greenwood the Great. What with the mallorn leaves brushed up around their feet and knees, and the towering pillars like great trees, and fairy lanterns, and the gold ceiling far above glowing like sunset, not much was required of her imagination to believe they were back there again. Even with the changed company, it just went to show how happy she could be among her friends here, no matter if they were mortal; she needed nothing more.

Nor did the guests. The cold marble room, they had all known as intimidating and unwelcoming under the rule of Denethor, had never seen such a joyful, warming scene. The people of Minas Tirith, dressed higgledy-piggeldy in all sorts of strange and intriguing guises were drawn into excited conversation around velvet rugs laden with heaps of foreign elven delicacies, as well as their favourite homely meals. Wine was in plentiful supply, and with music piping away in the background they all turned to the delight of trying food guaranteed to be heavenly and guessing at who each others' bizarre appearances were meant to represent… the revered Théoden, Faramir and Elrond were the names most often heard.

After the meal, men rose up and leaned back against the pillars disguised with ivy, clashing flagons of beer and drinking to the health of Gondor. All among these colourful, merry, if slightly odd-looking people, were also scattered many of Legolas' kin, the elves who had not long ago come to Ithilien, they themselves having saved the companions from Minas Morgul. It was clear that Ents were a favourite among the elves, most of them sporting green smears on their cheeks and walking about with crowns of branches around their heads. Their grace and beauty was not hindered – they melted into any shadows quite easily, and when standing still appeared just like a slender tree – yet their wild appearance drew even more attention from Aragorn's people than the original thrill of meeting some of the few elves left in the land.

Of course, there had to be a competition for the "best dressed" guest. Unsurprisingly, Faramir was applauded as the "most realistic" candidate without any dispute; he had come in memory of his brother Boromir, and by being so close in blood, and bearing his ox horn (which Éowyn had previously fixed for him) he appeared in rich attire to be almost the mirror image of the fallen Son of Gondor. The "most effort" was given deservingly to Beregond, who had come dressed as a great eagle, explaining that the eagles had saved Gandalf, Frodo and Sam, and should not be forgotten just because they were birds and not people. And to Gimli's utmost humiliation, but not to anyone's surprise (least of all Legolas and Aragorn's), he was given the title of being the "funniest" looking guest. For the next half-hour, the three friends all consumed a lot of ale – Aragorn and Legolas, because they were so incredibly amused, and Gimli, to drown his sorrows.

"I do _not_ want to be famous for the Dwarf Who Dressed As An Elf, rather than the dwarf who represented his race in the Battle for Middle-Earth," Gimli grumbled away, head bowed over his empty goblet.

"If it is any consolation," Arwen said gently, understandingly squeezing Gimli's arm, "If you are Celeborn, and I am Galadriel, that makes me your wife for the evening. Everyone clearly thinks you deserving of that."

After hearing this, Gimli sat up straight and was much perkier for the rest of the evening… although a lot of that could have been down to the volume of alcohol he had drunk.

Arwen laughed to herself and looked around, scanning the patchwork crowd. Her eye was caught by a pair of grinning faces. Not side by side, but one above the other. Laughing under her breath, she rose to her feet and drifted towards them through the throng of characters, while Erandur more forcibly squeezed out the distance between them. As Arwen came to stand before him, she looked up to see little Celros sitting on his shoulders, his bright-eyed face beaming down at her. He looked quite the hobbit Frodo he was dressed to be.

Before she could even part her lips to speak, or ask when the two had met, or praise Erandur's costume as Gimli (which she made note to tell the dwarf later), Erandur had erupted into exuberant compliments. "…Oh my lady, you look _so_ well, I cannot tell you how pleased I am. And you are safe, as are we all! What a joyous day! And with such a blessed future so soon to come! I must thank you for your strength of heart, and your love of life among us, and for hosting such a glorious party, to which I am invited…"

All the time Arwen had been nodding, sipping her glass, catching Celros' eye on the sly, and encouraging his laughter with a smile when Erandur was too involved in his own hand gestures to notice. At last however, due to Celros' jiggling about from hysterics, he became aware that some joke was occurring which he had missed out on.

"You are the most generous, self-sacrificing man I have met, as ever," Arwen thanked him and curtseyed.

"But Erandur, you did not walk over here to tell Lady Arwen all _that_," Celros moaned, impatiently tugging at a tuft of Erandur's hair, clasped in one fist. Erandur's forehead crinkled and he craned his neck to twist out of Erandur's grip, before his eyebrows shot up and his eyes were inundated with such glee that they grew to nearly twice their usual size.

"Of course! We have such wonderful news!" Erandur cried. "Arwen, you were right! Just as you supposed when we first met, Celros and I _are_ related! He is my cousin."

The little boy erupted into giggles, while the ranger, who had for so long been without family, reached up with one hand to ruffle his new-found cousin's hair. At such a sight, and with such knowledge of the profundity that this revelation would hold for Erandur, Arwen could only be over the moon.

"Congratulations! I do not know of two people who deserve each other more," Arwen said, watching just how Celros wrapped his arms round his cousin's neck to hug him, as well as choke him.

There was a hoarse croak: "Celroth!" Erandur stopped stroking the boy's hair and instead aimed a swipe at his head. Chuckling gleefully, having ducked neatly out of the trajectory, Celros relaxed his grip and allowed Erandur to breathe with ease again.

"But how did you know?" Arwen questioned Erandur, now that he could speak.

"Bless the Valar! Yes, you did not know who I met!" Erandur clapped a hand to his mouth. "Why, even though they were rescued along with you yourself!"

"Who?" Arwen asked, puzzled. "Celros' parents?" Now she remembered them.

"Indeed! But perhaps you remember my telling you that I lived for a time with my uncle and his wife, after my father died, and before the attack of the Haradrim?" Arwen inclined her head. Then she gave a start.

"Your uncle, the messenger, is Celros' father?" She knew she was right from the laughter passing through both of their lips as Erandur swung Celros over his shoulders, down to the ground, and back up again.

"Yes, I have found my family!" Erandur replied at length, for now Celros was demanding that his older cousin be a horse, and that he be a valiant messenger riding to Rivendell and the sons of Elrond.

"Well done, Celros," Arwen said, distracting the little boy's from pulling his cousin's ears. "You have found someone who can teach you all about travelling, and he can prepare you for living in the wild when you become a messenger."

"Not just an _ordinary_ messenger," Celros corrected, "I will go to _interesting _places, because I will ride where King Elessar sends me. Prince Imrahil told me, it was he who brought back Papa and Mama."

"So he did." Prince Imrahil appeared now at their side, with a smile and a bow. After paying his respects to Arwen, he turned to Celros, who was clapping his hands and informing Erandur of how fun it was to play in Imrahil's palace.

"And I enjoyed your company, little one," Imrahil told him, winking at Arwen.

"Thank you, Lady Arwen," Celros said, fixing his eyes avidly on hers. "Thank you for taking me to stay with Prince Imrahil. It was such a good holiday."

Arwen laughed.

"And you, young man, are always welcome not only in my city, but in my palace too," Imrahil offered to Erandur. "Even if you had not once lived in Dol Amroth, you would have earned citizenship from all you did for Lady Arwen."

"Thank you, my lord." Erandur expressed his gratitude with a stiff bow, so that Celros did not slide off. "When I am not teaching this little rascal, I shall take refuge in your kindness."

At that point Arwen realised that Legolas, fully hooded and robed in black, was winding his way towards them, with Aragorn and Éomer some way behind. Imrahil was still talking to Erandur and Celros; they did not see Legolas' approach. Then, standing inches away, he said solemnly, "Good evening."

Imrahil and Erandur had the fright of their lives as the form of a Dark Elf materialised right next to them. Celros screamed with laughter, while Imrahil clutched his chest and Erandur begged Legolas not to go creeping up on poor unsuspecting people while dressed in such a frightening manner.

Now, somewhat less stealthily, Éomer entered the small huddle, and said, "_I _am Gandalf the Grey."

Then Aragorn, clapping a hand on Éomer's shoulder, leant into the circle before adding, "And _I _am Gandalf the White."

Amidst the raucous hysterics, Arwen shook her head and drew to Aragorn's side. She gently took his hand and led him aside so that they could speak together and let the alcohol wear off before her endearing husband did anything sillier under the scrutiny of others. Aragorn did not argue. He was quite content to have a beautiful elf in his arms.

"I expect we shall not have many moments of uninterrupted peace together for much longer," Arwen murmured suggestively in his ear, looking in the opposite direction as they meandered aimlessly around throngs of merry-makers.

"That is most definitely not true!" Aragorn replied, pulling a face. "If it was, I would not be celebrating."

"Then who do you propose will look after our child?" Arwen asked, surprised. "You cannot deny that Legolas and Gimli would look very out of place looking after a baby."

"I certainly could not deny _that_," Aragorn said laughing loudly. "But I would allow them to do so, if they wished. I would follow them, not out of worry, but for want of assured entertainment. Can you imagine Legolas' fear for his own composure, and Gimli's awkwardness? The bickering over who should take care of what would be incessant."

"You are not seriously suggesting them?" Arwen checked her misgivings.

Aragorn smiled knowingly and shook his head. "I have just this moment spoken with your two brothers. They are so very enthusiastic to be helpful that I cannot possibly deny them their wish to look after our son."

Upon hearing this, an expression of absolute incredulity overcame Arwen's face. "You must be teasing me, Estel," she scolded him. "They would never volunteer to look after a child, alone, just the two of them. I have never seen them with any elf-children."

"I am not teasing you," Aragorn complained indignantly. "If you do not want to believe that they care for their sister's child, see instead it instead as them wanting to lead their nephew astray."

Arwen's eyes twinkled. "Oh, I do not mind even if that is so, for you shall not be able to stop my hysterics when I behold Elladan and Elrohir with a baby in their arms, so greatly will I be diverted," she said. "That sight will be even more comical than Gimli and Legolas."

"No, I beg to differ," Aragorn said. "But with such kind and keen friends and relatives, we shall have the lucky opportunity to watch both amusing episodes, and many more opportunities alone, together."

Just as the laughter was dancing on Arwen's lips and Aragorn was leaning in to still them with a kiss, a man's voice interrupted the King's advances. Aragorn hastened backwards with wild eyes darting around. Arwen hoped that the shock would shaken him enough that he would more sober again. Observing this scene placidly was Faramir, now being joined by Éowyn, who wore a crooked smile.

"What is this I hear about kind and keen friends and relatives? Is that me included?"

"Yes," Aragorn shrugged, "if you so wish to be."

"Only you seemed to be laughing," Faramir continued, letting his eyes travel over the lofty ceiling. "It sounds like you were laying a trap for such generous people…" He ended with an intense stare at Aragorn.

Arwen let slip a laugh. "We were only calling them generous for offering to look after our child for us, from time to time," she explained, meeting Éowyn's eye. To Arwen's surprise, Faramir looked just as keen as his wife.

"We could do that, could we not, my dear?" he asked her eagerly. "I am sure the three of you would _all_ enjoy a short break in Ithilien," he said to Arwen and Aragorn.

"I would be truly grateful," Arwen said sincerely.

Faramir tipped his head to the side with a knowing look. "Behold your generous friends," he praised himself, not quite suppressing a laugh.

"I rather suspect Arwen wishes her child to be in the company of elves while in Ithilien," Éowyn informed her husband, who was instantly dampened down and produced mournful eyes.

"No, no," Arwen put her hand out to halt the Steward from rapidly becoming glum. "Well, yes, I would like him to be around elves, but I would like you two, exclusively as our friends, to care for our child, and not only when we visit Ithilien – you may do so when you visit us here, too."

While speaking, she referred mainly to Éowyn, but it was clear Faramir was desperate to be included too. Miraculously, offers of childcare were flourishing around them tonight. Arwen shared a brief lucky smile with Aragorn, who returned the compliment with raised eyebrows. He leant towards her and his whispering lips brushed her ear.

"See how I am not the only one profoundly touched by your choice to stay."

Arwen could not bring herself to meet his eyes, there was such a thrill coursing through her veins on hearing this, and realising its truth. But she could not hold back the bounteous smile and meaningfully returned Aragorn's squeeze on her hand.

xxxxxx

It was well into the night and the party was nearing its close when Aragorn mounted the dais by the King's throne and addressed the applauding, contented crowd.

"Thank you all for coming, I am sure you will join me in saying this has been a most joyful evening and in showing your appreciation for all those who have helped in the preparations." There was much clapping, cheering and whooping.

"As you all know, we have good cause for this celebration; not many weeks ago, the plague on Gondor – the Dark Elves from Minas Morgul – was dispelled, when I ventured there along with my brave companions, Legolas, Gimli, Faramir, Éowyn, Éomer, Elladan and Elrohir. Let us now thank them and all the reputable elves of Ithilien who have done such a noteworthy service to our kingdom."

This time, the applauding was less wild, and more heartfelt; people really meant the thanks they were giving. Arwen, watching from the side with the aforementioned friends all around, applauded with real gratitude for what they had done, not only for Aragorn's kingdom, but for her.

Aragorn spoke again. "We also have cause to celebrate due to the recent return of our soldiers from the East. They have tracked the supposed 'river' right down to the sea in Near Harad, and far North, where they heard news that it still continued past the Iron Hills, with no far bank in sight. You may be wondering what has happened, and why I called our troops back. Let me enlighten you, the way that Arwen enlightened me." His eyes flicked over to her, and Arwen felt the burning gaze of hundreds more eyes upon her.

"This little bottle, which she asked for-" he held up a tiny glass phial, "-holds the key. When I put a drop to my tongue and I tasted the salt, all became clear. That is not a river, it is the sea. The Valar have changed the lands, and cut off Middle-Earth from the rest of Arda with the sea. I can therefore assure you that we are even safer than we had all presumed, and we have even more reason to be relieved."

The silence was disturbed by many whisperings, dawning looks, and signs of appraisal; nobody doubted Aragorn's words. He was their king; he understood his kingdom; he knew when his people were safe.

"And now," Aragorn said, his voice mellowing, "I have a far more important reason to celebrate, and to thank Arwen. Not only do we await the birth of our son, but Arwen is back to good health, and she lives among us here, now and until the end. I do not doubt that I am right in saying," as the applause was rapidly mounting to the likeness of lions roaring and Aragorn was forced to raise his voice, "that I am not alone in bearing these sentiments."

Claps and cries of agreement and joy filled the clamorous air louder than ever before, a contention to the sound of Gandalf's famed fireworks; with the floor trembling beneath her feet, Arwen was nudged by Éowyn into walking forward into the limelight and climbing the steps to her husband's side, swathed in her own ovation. Looking upon all those faces, expressing sincere relief and gladness at her choice, Arwen was at a loss of all thoughts; she had never felt so honoured or loved in her life. Not until she slowly turned and found Aragorn there, watching her, and smiling.

"We all have good reason to thank you, Arwen," he said, holding her brimming eyes with his intense gaze. His voice was soft, but the tender words were still heard above the applause. "But for me it is even stronger than for anyone else."

As a tear escaped from a blue eye and trickled down her cheek, Aragorn brought her into an encompassing embrace, and she fell against his chest, eyes squeezed tight and sobbing with happiness. His strong arms held her shaking body to his warmth, and in that hug she had never felt so at home, so right. She pressed her fingertips into his skin, hoping that he would understand her feelings through such a gesture, being incapable of any other form of communication as she was, cut off from the rest of the room, the rest of Arda completely.

Arwen felt his hold soften, and moments later fingers gently brushed across her wet cheek. "Thank you, Arwen," she heard his husky voice overcome with emotion. He planted a light kiss on her head. "I love you."

There was nothing more to the world than this.


	42. Epilogue

Here it is, the final chapter! I can't believe it has finally reached the end, after over four years' worth of writing... but yes it has indeed come. Thank you all so much for keeping with the story and patiently awaiting updates. I really value all of your reviews and I'm so happy just to know you've been reading along with me.

One final request – I would love to hear from as many of you as possible on your thoughts of the story overall. I will of course reply to any reviews and be happy to take on board feedback for my next stories.

Once again, many many thanks for reading and reviewing - I am eternally grateful to you!

42. Epilogue

Aragorn stood by the window, gazing out at the illuminating sunrise over the distant mountains in the east. The first shafts of light were beginning to break out into the twilight air, casting away the swirling mists and stirring up a soft cool breeze. The world outside the room slowly became lighter and the grey shroud paled and dissolved. Suddenly the expectant sky flushed a bright rosy pink and lit everything in a poignant hue of faint red. Lofty clouds morphed into a shade of purple while the fleeing mists rolled back across the flat Fields of Pelennor like the tide of a mystic sea. There was a sprinkling of frost over all the white houses in city and a heavier layer on the pale grasses down to the river. It sparkled in the fresh light of day like secretive jewels known only to him.

Aragorn smiled as the first beam of light was cast out from behind a snowy peak and struck through the elevated airs onto the tall Tower of Ecthelion way above his head. Its golden sheen was dazzling but it did not hurt Aragorn's eyes. Gradually the grey scribble of the Anduin filled in with liquid silver and the blue ribbon glittered as it wound through the still silent land. Now the sky melted into an azure blue, rich and pure, which complemented the gold light dappling upon the white city. Spiders' webs laced through the dark branches of trees swayed and glimmered, while one by one hoary plumes of smoke began to drift up into the air as awakening people warmed up their houses.

The welcoming sight warmed Aragorn's heart and he gave a replying smile to the beautiful winter's morning. His hot breath caught on the cold glass pane and a cold mist shot up in front of his eyes. Aragorn dropped his gaze and turned round, first looking at the bed in the centre of the room, and then at the cradle by his side.

A warm flame jumped up softly in Aragorn's chest on seeing Arwen's peaceful face as she dreamt in restful sleep. Her tired eyes were closed, with her long dark eyelashes settled on her cheeks like crescent moons. The flush from her cheeks had waned and her complexion was now a pure white, almost glowing in the ethereal first light of day. Her ribbons of dark hair were cast about her head on the white pillows, framing the tips of her ears and slender curve of her neck. Underneath the covers, her chest rose and fell rhythmically, with her shallow breaths too quiet for any mortal to hear. Arwen lay in the centre of the wide bed, which was comfortable and gave her plenty of room, had she wished for it. Instead she was wandering in mystical dreams, not feeling the passage of the world in its new light, not aware of Aragorn watching over her or of the tremulous light dancing gently on her sealed lips.

Aragorn smiled and looked at the wooden cradle, carved by the hands of gifted elves. Inside, as he crept nearer, there were soft blankets and white sheepskin, teased over the smallest mound. Excitement chirped through Aragorn's veins as he slid both hands over the polished wooden side and his eyes fell on the sight of his newborn baby. Eldarion had the tiniest pointed ears, with the strong nose Aragorn recognised as his own, but the smooth cheekbones which belonged to his mother Aragorn recognised even better.

Yet more than this, the bright blue eyes looking up at him moved Aragorn the most. So intense and fresh, they shone from within with the life of one new to the world. They sparkled, too, unless it was Aragorn's tears of joy which filled his sight with silver bubbles. His son's eyes were round and curious, analysing the face not far above his own, watching him and smiling. The blankets wriggled and Eldarion brought forth two little hands, stretching them out and opening his lips with silent words, asking for his Ada.

With the utmost care Aragorn's healing hands lifted back the blankets and reached around his young child, scooping Eldarion up into the warmth of his arms. "Tiro, Eldarion," Aragorn whispered, speaking to his son in the elvish language he loved. "Your first sunrise." He glanced out at the silvery lands, the lands of a King. They were lands which at some point the little Prince huddled against his chest would rule. Aragorn looked back at his son and saw the big blue eyes instead staring, transfixed, up at him. In an instant their piercing gaze struck Aragorn to the core of his heart.

"Valar, you have Arwen's eyes…" he exclaimed softly, running a thumb over the baby's pointed ear before leaning down to press a kiss on his forehead. As Aragorn opened his eyes, he caught sight of another piercing pair of blue watching him.

A smile graced Arwen's lips. Her eyes shifted into concern and were asking how her baby was. Aragorn could see her stirring underneath the bedcovers.

"He desires his naneth, meleth nín," Aragorn replied quietly, leaving his place at the window and cautiously walking over to the bed. He sat down next to his wife's warm body, watching with her as their son focused his eyes on his mother's face. Eldarion shifted his head in Aragorn's cupped hand and became restless, with eyes only now for Arwen. "…As do I," Aragorn murmured, looking up at Arwen on offering Eldarion into her arms.

She flicked her eyes up to his, and a rosy blush sprang up on her white cheeks. Arwen smiled, now shy and shielding her gaze from his with her eyelashes trembling like butterfly wings. Aragorn had leant in to lay Eldarion in her hold, but now stayed close to her.

"Aníron Undómiel…" he sighed, tenderly pressing a hand on the side of Arwen's pink cheek, guilty of nothing except love. She coyly revealed her eyes to him, eyes which shone deep from inside, with a light that radiated subtly and warmly from her soul, a light that was meant only for him. Aragorn let out shaky breath, unable to hold his love within with his dignified defences. He felt upon his other hand Arwen's fingers stroking his sensitive skin, and around his thumb a tiny fist closed its grip. Aragorn tore his longing eyes down and met in the eyes of Eldarion the same glimmer of tender light.

With a gasp Aragorn looked back up and saw Arwen smiling, openly giving up her love to him now. "Ai… aníron Estel," she breathed, parting her lips with a sigh that broke out from her heart. Her spirit was soaring and she lay in a blissful twilight, both elf-maiden and mortal, in a peaceful realm at the start of a new age. All she loved was here, in Aragorn's eyes. Arwen let out a soft laugh, like the rush of a waterfall over small rocks. "Hannon le," she said, meaningfully.

Aragorn frowned slightly, and shook his head, as if realising something for the first time, something so meaningful, so important, so touching that he had known it all along. The light in Arwen's eyes was her love, her love for him, Aragorn, and all that he was to her. Their love had materialised into Eldarion, who lay touching each of their racing hearts.

Aragorn's eyes softened and gently he kissed Arwen on her glimmering lips, pouring into her his boundless love and inflaming that light which entranced him so dearly… the light which was Arwen's immortal love.


End file.
